


Upside Down Cupcakes

by thursdayknight



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: (and he's dead too), (it's Barb), Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - No Monsters, Angst, Asexual Billy Hargrove, Asexual Dustin Henderson, Asexual Kali Prasad, Asexual Steve Harrington, Baker Steve Harrington, Bakery AU, Billy Hargrove Needs a Hug, Bisexual Dustin Henderson, Bisexual Steve Harrington, F/F, F/M, Firefighter Billy Hargrove, Fluff, Gay Billy Hargrove, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Minor Character Death, Neil Hargrove is His Own Warning, Past Character Death, Soft Fic is Soft, and did i mention that they're idiots, and he gets several, asexual bdsm, because they're idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 29,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23845795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thursdayknight/pseuds/thursdayknight
Summary: It starts when Billy is looking for a bakery for cupcakes for Heather's birthday and he finds a website for a local place called Upside Down Cupcakes, the description for which reads: No, the cupcakes aren't upside down, they're just really, really good.And with a name and a description like that, how can he resist?
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Dustin Henderson/Kali Prasad, Eleven | Jane Hopper/Mike Wheeler, Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler, Maxine "Max" Mayfield/Lucas Sinclair, Robin Buckley/Heather Holloway
Comments: 40
Kudos: 76
Collections: Stranger Things ace fic collection





	1. Come to mint

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is my attempt at doing an ace fic using different prompts for each chapter from a prompt list I made with my friends on tumblr. Here's the link to the [ list](https://gideongrace.tumblr.com/post/615309936485924864/dialogueace-fic-prompts) on tumblr. I made it with[ ihni](http://ihni.tumblr.com) and [nagdabbit ](http://nagdabbit.tumblr.com) and it was a lot of fun!
> 
> And there's a playlist for the fic[ on spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0W3Tztl99L1EXRvuBb1NkG?si=fXFcGzbgRhmlx_MfR_o4fQ).
> 
> The first prompts are:
> 
> "16. for the ace writing prompts 🥺💕 “I only know sexual words for non-sexual feelings!” 
> 
> from a-magey
> 
> +
> 
> 16\. "I only have sexual words for non-sexual feelings!" :)))
> 
> from haxpr0cess
> 
> +
> 
> and 52! 👀
> 
> "He asked me to give him a handy so I punched him in the dick and charged him five dollars."
> 
> from wrecked-fuse.

The second Billy steps through the door to _Upside Down Cupcakes,_ two things happen. 

One, he notices that the place is covered in enough different pastel colors it makes him want to actively vomit all over it just to see if that might make it look better and two, he hears a guy say: "He asked me to give him a handy so I punched him in the dick and charged him five dollars," and he can't help but burst out laughing both because that's hilarious and because it's exactly the sort of thing he would have said himself. 

But then he identifies the guy who said it and something in him falters in a way he doesn't think he's ever experienced before. Like this guy is so pretty the world stops dead just so Billy can stare at him and his ridiculously big, brown eyes and his thick, gorgeous brown hair. 

But time, as it always does, quickly picks back up again. And this time it's when the curly-haired dorky guy standing next to Pretty Boy snort laughs so unashamedly and so fucking loudly it has Billy cringing even as Pretty Boy shakes his head. 

Then Pretty Boy turns and looks at Billy and says, "Hello and welcome to Upside Down Cupcakes. What can I get for ya?" with this easy, lazy, sugary smile that has Billy fully snapping back to himself and matching that sugary smile with one of his own, though his is more meant to bite than to look sweet. And if the way Pretty Boy bites his lip on seeing it, Billy figures it must have worked. 

So, feeling a bit more confident, he runs his hand through his hair, tries to pretend he doesn't at all feel gross or sticky or sweaty from Chicago's nasty, brutish attempt at something approaching summer and he saunters up to the counter. 

"Hmmm…" he says, thinking. His eyes drift over to the large, glass display case to the right of the main counter and his mouth starts to water as his eyes rove over the rows and rows and _rows_ of brightly colored, intricately designed little cupcakes in immaculate pastel paper liners.

He lifts his eyes from the cupcakes to look back at Pretty Boy, who, it would seem, is pretty proud of himself for the way Billy was looking at what Billy guesses must be _his_ cupcakes. "I've got a friend's birthday party in a couple of hours, what kind of cupcakes do you have for that?" Billy asks. 

Pretty Boy makes a face and tugs at a chain around his neck, unintentionally withdrawing a circular pendant from inside his sickeningly blue polo shirt. "Well…" he says. "We've got—" he keeps going but Billy doesn't hear him. He's too busy staring at that pendant, more specifically the colors making up the swirling metal bands of it. Black, purple, white, and gray. Billy knows those colors. Billy lives those colors. Billy _is_ those colors. 

But this guy can't be that perfect, can he? He can't possibly be those colors, too. He can't possibly be asexual like him. Billy's eyes almost bug out of his head at the thought of it. No. This guy _can't_ be that perfect. He can't be. It's _not_ possible. 

The dorky guy, unfortunately, catches Billy staring at the necklace and mistakes the look on Billy's face for something malicious instead of something full of longing and starts scowling. He straightens up and folds his arms across his chest. "I know that look," he says, his voice going higher-pitched rather than lower, like most guys do when they're being threatening or trying to be. This guy, Billy thinks, probably hasn't been threatening a day in his life. 

"What look?" Billy says, going for genuine confusion. (And it's not entirely a lie. He's not 100% sure what the guy is going for, exactly, much as it's obvious he doesn't like him.)

"We don't serve acephobes," the curly-haired dork says. Which... oh. Kay. Not at all where Billy thought this was going, but, it is at least a problem he can solve.

"Dustin…" Pretty Boy says, his tone very nearly almost resembling something that could be called a whine. Clearly, he's used to his friend's poorly implemented scare tactics and just as clearly tired of them.

"Look, kid—" Billy starts just as the swinging door to the kitchen bangs open, and a tall, thin brunette backs into the room carrying a tray of cupcakes that carry with them this deliciously thick, chocolatey scent that has Billy momentarily distracted from the issue at hand. 

The woman puts the tray of cupcakes down on the sickeningly pale pink back counter before turning around to face the three of them. It takes her all of two seconds to pick up on the tense vibes and she squares her shoulders to match Dustin's. "What happened?" she says to Dustin even as she's glaring at Billy like she's picturing setting him on fire. 

"Guys—" Pretty Boy says sharply, but whatever he's about to say next Billy cuts him off with a raised hand and a loud, "I'm ace, too." And at that, Dustin unfurls a little, as does the woman. 

Billy's hands drop to his pockets and as his fingers brush across them, one hand hits the hard enamel edge of the asexual pin he'd taken off of his shirt earlier. 

He fishes it out of his pocket and flashes it at them, it's a small planet-shaped pin with stripes in the asexual colors. "See?" he says.

"Oh," says Pretty Boy, sounding shocked. 

"Yeah," Billy says. "I know. There aren't…" he trails off, but Pretty Boy quickly picks it up.

"A lot of asexuals around, yeah." 

"Huh," Dustin huffs. "Whatever." He looks off to the side in the best imitation of a pissed off teenager Billy thinks he's ever seen a grown adult do and mean it. 

Then the woman does this little sort of laughing without opening her mouth thing before turning to grab a couple of cupcakes off the tray on the back counter and without being asked, Dustin reaches over and unlatches then shoves open the door to the display case, the whole motion seeming so practiced Billy knows it must mean they know each other _really_ _well._

And the cupcakes, they're these dark chocolate cupcakes with these little green stars that look like handmade _Lucky Charms_ sprinkled on top and they make something in Billy leap, like, _Yes, those! Those ones are perfect._

The woman says, "Come on, Dustin, you handle it just as badly any time you see a fellow asexual in the wild or whenever you try to discuss being ace," just as Pretty Boy says, "Well, now that _that's_ been handled..."

Then Dustin sputters, "Well, I—" just as Billy goes, "Yeah, so…" 

The woman pauses. 

Billy clears his throat. 

Dustin looks at his feet. 

Pretty Boy looks at the wall. 

Nobody seems to want to break the awkward silence so Billy takes it upon himself to do it. "Those look perfect. Can I get them all boxed up?" he says, pointing at the chocolate cupcakes the woman was just shuffling into the display case and looking right at Pretty Boy as he says it.

The woman leans back out of the display case and straightens up to smile at him. "Sure thing," she says, even though he was _clearly_ talking to Steve. Then, to Dustin, she says, "Well, you—" and cuts herself off giggling before she can even finish. "What was that thing you blurted out to that girl you went out with last week? _'I only know sexual words for non-sexual feelings'?"_

Dustin blushes a fiery red that does not at all go with his curly hair or his chubby cheeks. "That was! I! You!" he stammers, making it clear that whatever the woman is teasing him for, it's embarrassing. Apparently _very embarrassing_ as he gets all stiff and huffy and his cheeks puff out not unlike a chipmunk's. "You know," he says, indignant as anything, "I don't have to take this." 

The woman laughs and says, "Oh, come on. You know I only do it out of love." 

Dustin huffs (it seems to be something he does a lot) and stomps off through the swinging door, disappearing into the kitchen.

Once Dustin's gone, the woman turns towards the back counter again and starts digging around in the shelves underneath for a box big enough to put the cupcakes in. 

"Sorry about... that. But don't worry about him," Pretty Boy says. "He's just kinda dramatic sometimes." And this time… this time there's a look on his face that's fond enough to get Billy worrying.

"Yeah… my last boyfriend was dramatic like that, too," Billy says, calculated and curious but going for light. 

It's something he clearly doesn't quite achieve as Pretty Boy nearly does a spit take with just his own spit and the woman bursts out laughing. 

"Wait..." she says, still elbow-deep in the long dark shelves under the counter. "You mean like... Steve _?_ And _Dustin? Together?"_ Her fingers brush the edges of a pale pink and very large box that she then grabs and starts pulling out. "That wouldn't last more than five minutes." She doesn't turn around as she says this, either, she just starts putting the cupcakes into the box. It's a weird sort of confidence, doing something like that, but Billy can't help but admire her for it. 

"It wouldn't be _that_ bad," Steve says, trying to sound cool even as he turns as red as Dustin had earlier, though the effect here is much prettier, the blush highlighting his cheekbones and making Billy _want._

"So you're _not_ seeing anybody, then?" Billy asks as Steve starts punching numbers into the cash register. Steve's blush deepens and starts spilling over onto his neck so deliciously it makes Billy lick his lips.

"Uh, no…" Steve says. "I guess not." 

Billy takes this as his opening and leans in, putting his elbows up onto the pastel green counter and giving Steve his _best_ smile. "Well, if you're not going out with anybody else, do you wanna go out with me? Maybe tomorrow night?"

Steve looks up and it takes a second for Billy's words to actually register, but once they do Steve smiles back with that same easy, sugary smile from earlier and it gives Billy the biggest rush he's had in a while. "Sure," Steve says. "That'd be great." And for a moment they just stare at each other and Billy thinks he could get lost just trying to memorize all the details of Steve's face. He thinks he might, actually, probably would, really, he definitely wants to, except—

Except the woman thumps the box of cupcakes onto the counter between the two of them, breaking the moment. Then with a grin and a glance at the cash register she says, "That'll be $42.50." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have also decided to name all the chapters after types of cupcakes and include cupcake recipes in the notes! 
> 
> The cupcakes for this chapter are chocolate fudge mint. Here is a recipe for [chocolate mint cupcakes.](https://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/giada-de-laurentiis/double-chocolate-mint-cupcakes-7967347)


	2. Lemon lovely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompts for this chapter are: 
> 
> 3\. “Why is there a giant, fluffy unicorn plush on my bed?" because giant fluffy unicorns are my aesthetic!
> 
> from myboyfriendsteve
> 
> +
> 
> For the ace prompts: 3. "Why is there a giant, fluffy unicorn plush on my bed?" PLZ IM SO EXCITED I need some odd, cute fluff rn lol
> 
> from barbarianbillyhargrove.

**~** **~**

"Why is there a giant, fluffy unicorn plush on my bed?" Billy asks the second he sets foot in his bedroom because it's the first thing he sees. Not all his band posters coating the walls, not the clean-but-now-basically-dirty laundry festering in the corner, not his comfy (read: _expensive)_ bed and his lovely, sumptuous duvet and big, fluffy pillows, the ones he's been dreaming about for the last three hours, no. The first thing he sees after getting in and tossing his gear by the door is this fucking _thing._

It feels like it's staring at him. It feels like it's mocking him with the way his spare fireman's helmet, the one that's usually buried somewhere in the far reaches of the back of his closet is sitting perched on its head at an angle. 

It's infuriating and what's worse is he doesn't know _why_ it's infuriating. It just is. Like deeply, _deeply_ is. He's had a long day, he almost got crushed on the way out of a no-longer-burning-but-now-definitely-collapsing building as a thick steel door came crashing down _just_ behind him, so he's tense and he's dirty and all he wants to do is crash into bed without even showering and then there's this... _thing._ This soft and fluffy _thing_ he wasn't expecting to find taking up all the space on his bed and for whatever reason, it just infuriates him. 

"Max!" he roars, dragging the thing off his bed by the neck and sending the helmet toppling to the floor with a thud that's only softened by the hoodie it lands on. 

He stomps out into the hall and into her room to find her sitting at her desk in front of her laptop with her comically large, gratingly orange headphones looking just as ridiculous on her small head as was his fireman's helmet on the head of this giant, monstrous _thing._

He calls her name again—"Max!"—and he bangs the thing against the door, almost throttling it. _"What is this?"_

She looks up at him, one eyebrow cocked and not even the least bit distressed by his outrage. 

She takes her headphones off and something sad and grimy sounding floods out of them to douse the rest of the room. 

"Oh, that," she says. Insultingly, she starts _smiling_ at him. "That's from Steve. He dropped it off earlier."

"Oh," Billy says softly, his grip on the unicorn's neck loosening. He takes a second look at it and he thinks back to the night before, to the way he and Steve had spent the whole night talking about how they were both asexual; talking and kissing and cuddling, both happy and secure in the knowledge that neither of them wanted more. He thinks back to Steve calling him his "unicorn" and then blushing and instantly, _instantly,_ his anger warps and twists, becomes red-hot shame and clings to his insides. His toes grip into the thick, plush carpet as he tries to breathe. 

He realizes then that it's not about the unicorn. It was never about the unicorn. The unicorn is fine. He's just... startled and has had a long day, that's all. _Just a little wound up,_ he tells himself. _Nothing to be upset about._

But he's upset about it anyway. He's really, truly, _deeply_ upset about it anyway. 

"He also left you some cupcakes in the fridge," Max says, either not noticing or pointedly ignoring his distress. And that's when Billy sees it, the empty plate sitting to the side of her laptop, the one with the suspicious looking bright yellow cake crumbs all over it.

Billy grunts and for the moment seals his panic away. "And did you bother to leave me any?" he asks.

Max looks over at her plate, then at him, then back at her laptop. "I left you half," she says, like it's her sisterly right to eat half of anything belonging to him and she's offended he'd ever think otherwise, let alone ever question her about it.

He grunts again in response before leaving the room, giant stuffed unicorn still in hand, and heads for the kitchen and more specifically the fridge.

Inside, he finds, as expected, a half-full tray of cupcakes. They're lemon yellow with bright, near pastel purple icing. He grabs them, the whole tray, and slinks off to his room. 

He waits for a second to make sure Max isn't about to come busting in on him, makes sure she didn't hear the fridge door opening and decide she wants more than half, and shuts his door. 

He wraps himself around the unicorn and slowly, quietly eats his cupcakes and thinks of Steve. It helps him take the edges off of his anger. Anger he now sees for what it is—panic over what had happened earlier. 

He falls asleep on the floor still wrapped around the unicorn and still thinking of Steve. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The cupcakes for this chapter are lemon with lavender icing. Here is a recipe for [lemon and lavender cupcakes.](https://www.thepioneerwoman.com/food-cooking/recipes/a79592/lemon-cupcakes-with-lavender-frosting/)


	3. Devil's food cake is better than sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompts for this chapter are from pretty-bratty on tumblr:
> 
> Ahh I want 17+27 please?
> 
> 17\. "I just want cuddles and obedience."  
> +  
> 27\. "Stay here."

**~** **~**

"Steve," Billy sighs his name more than he says it. "Please." 

"I know, I'm just…" Steve, turned painfully away from Billy, roots around in the complete disaster that is his closet. He knows he's got some rope in here somewhere…

"Steve," Billy says, all but begging this time. "Come on…" 

"I know!" Steve says again, more desperate, more wild. "Just…" 

The rope's not here. He's found his t-shirt with the corgi holding the asexual flag, the one he'd thought he'd lost months ago. And he's found his favorite stripey socks. But no rope, which is odd, because he could've sworn it was in here. He knows he has some, he can even picture it exactly, it's this beautiful pale green and it's the super-soft silk kinda rope made explicitly for kink. He can even remember the last time he used it…

_Shit._

The last time he used it was at that girl Anna's a couple months ago—he must have left it there. 

"Steve?" Billy's suddenly at his side, all concern with his big, warm hand on his shoulder, and Steve doesn't have to look to know that the same concern coloring his voice is coloring his face, too. 

He looks anyway and he finds that—yep, Billy _looks_ just as concerned as he _sounds._

Steve, in response, sighs. 

"What'd I say?" 

Billy gives him the most disarming grin he's got in his arsenal and it's almost damn near blinding. Almost, but Steve's been doing this Dominant thing for a while now and he knows how to deal with a bratty Sub. 

He gets to his feet with a raised eyebrow and pushes back his head and shoulders, making himself appear larger, even if Billy's still got a good bit of muscle on him; that Billy is still kneeling on the floor and he's standing helps a little.

"I believe the words I used were 'stay here'," he says, pointing with an index finger towards his bed. 

Billy scowls. 

"Fine," he grumbles as he half shuffles, half crawls back to the bed, dragging his feet so they squeak along the hardwood the whole way.

Steve sighs again as he watches Billy set himself squarely in the center of the mattress, looking like a golden-haired, angelic island in the middle of a navy blue sea. 

It's beautiful… but it's also all wrong. 

He walks over to the bed with the walking speed and countenance his first Dom had taught him—slow but determined, calm but not friendly. 

He crawls onto the bed and pushes Billy back, tips him over with one finger to the chest and Billy goes without complaint and without struggle, he tips over as easy as blowing over a feather but he also sprawls out like an octopus when he lands and he's got the biggest, most shit-eating grin on his face as he does it and Steve isn't quite sure if he wants to kiss him or hit him for it.

But, instead of either of those, he grunts and grabs Billy's hands one at a time and drags them up to the bottom rung of his metal lattice headboard and holds his hands there until his fingers uncurl one by one and he wraps them around the cool, cold metal. 

Then finally, finally, with that _finally_ done (even though Billy still has his legs spread wide and that grin on his face) Steve says, _"Stay here,"_ and goes back to looking for something to tie Billy up with because lord knows, Billy's not going to stay where he's put. Not for long. 

"I just want cuddles and obedience," Steve grumbles, more to himself than anything. "Is that so hard? Cuddles and obedience. And rope." 

He's strongly considering using the one and only tie he's got hanging limply off a deserted tie rack lingering in the back of his closet—he's never really liked the thing anyway and barely ever even needs it—when he spots a pair of fuzzy, pink handcuffs dangling out of a shoe sitting in the corner and he thinks, _Perfect._

Of course, when he turns to face Billy with them, Billy is lying with one hand spread lazily over his stomach and the other only just barely clinging to the headboard by the barest touch of a pinkie. 

And Billy's still got that fucking grin, the one that he just knows lights a fire in Steve's bones, the one that he just _knows_ sets all Steve's edges to razor blades and his insides to barbed wire. 

But instead of saying anything even half that challenging, Billy says, "Really, Stevie? Pink fluffy handcuffs? A little cliche, isn't it?" And his voice is a soft and gentle purr that fights tooth and claw against that grin. Fights tooth and claw and _loses._

And it makes Steve want to roar, makes Steve want to become like thunder and crack the sky and rattle the windows, but instead, he remains calm, instead, he holds the handcuffs gently in his hands like there's nothing threatening about them, like there's no threat at all and he says, "So what if it is?" all delicate, all gentle teasing as he stands there staring at the man he's found he just can't get enough of, no matter how much time they spend together or what they do.

And Billy, for whatever reason, he doesn't have anything to say to this, he just shrugs and watches as Steve starts moving slowly towards the bed. 

The silence continues as Steve climbs up and over the edge of the bed, over the navy blue comforter that's been kicked nearly completely off of it—the one that matches the sheets he'd bought when he'd started dating Billy. The one that any time he sees it, reminds him of Billy's ocean blue eyes, even if the color's not quite right, not a perfect match, but then almost all shades of blue remind him of Billy's eyes these days, so it's not like the _exact_ shade of the blanket _really_ matters.

Steve opens his mouth to speak, but then he doesn't. The still-present silence starts to feel more like an ever-present silence, like it's never been broken, like neither of them has ever uttered a single word before this moment and like maybe they never will again after it. The rest of the apartment is silent too, no TV going in the background, no music coming from the living room, no voices, no sounds of Dustin cooking, nothing. It's late, going on nearly two a.m. so, for once, the street outside Steve's window is blessedly quiet as well and Steve finds himself hesitant to break that. He isn't sure if he believes in magic, not really, but if he did he'd say he's pretty sure that this moment, this quiet where the only thing he hears is his own breathing and Billy's, the only thing he sees is Billy's eyes on him, all of Billy's focus solely on him… he's pretty sure that's what magic is, or would be, at least, if such a thing existed. So instead of breaking the spell, instead of finding out for sure magic _isn't_ real, instead of _speaking,_ he just holds the handcuffs up questioningly, nonverbally giving Billy a last chance to back out if he really wants to. 

He feels his heart surge and capsize when Billy's grin morphs into this dopey, happy look and he wraps his hands up around the middle rung of the headboard as tight as they'll go, when he nods and holds his body perfectly straight and perfectly still. And after he's done all of that _, only_ after he's done all of that, Steve advances, closing the distance between the two of them to lay himself over Billy as he chains his wrists up to the headboard. 

"There," he says, leaning back to admire his handiwork and the way that now that he's got what he wants Billy is perfectly behaved, perfectly still, perfectly _obedient_ just like Billy knows _he_ wants. 

He lets out a breath as he watches Billy breathe heavily underneath him, getting more and more excited with each excruciatingly slow second that ticks by. More excited but also more determined to lay perfectly still, to be a _good boy_ and Steve can't help it, he needs to feel it, needs to feel that excitement up close and as close to first hand as he can get so he drags his hands down Billy's chest and groans, stopping just over his nipples and thumbing them gently. 

"Alright," he says, once he's looked his fill, once he thinks the pattern of Billy's breathing has been _imprinted_ into his _skin,_ maybe into his _soul._ "Let's begin."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The cupcakes for this chapter are devil's food cake. Here is a recipe for [devil's food cupcakes.](https://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/patrick-and-gina-neely/devils-food-cupcakes-recipe-1923755)


	4. Stick in the fudge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompts for this one are:
> 
> "i need you to know that i LOVE ace!steve and ace!billy. fills my heart with so much joy so i am here to humbly request a fic with 15 from your ace prompt list. :)" 
> 
> from anonymous
> 
> 15\. "You know he's/she's/they're just as gone on you as you are on him/her/them, right? Like I've seen the two of you taking turns staring at each other while the other one isn't looking and let me tell you, that shit is not cute." 
> 
> +
> 
> "Are you still doing the ace prompts? If so, can I request 28? 😊"
> 
> from anonymous
> 
> 28\. "Don't touch me. Don't fucking touch me."
> 
> +
> 
> "54 for the ace asks please if you have time and would like to!! 💖" 
> 
> from ifyouwannabemydingus
> 
> 54\. "You fell asleep with your head in my lap. Again."
> 
> I have never written El and Mike before, or Mike's pov, but here we go anyway. Also, thanks go to my lovely friend harringrovetrashh/taythebae for coming up with the chapter title for this one.

**~** **~**

It happens like this. 

Mike is at Billy's place with Billy, El, and Billy's new boyfriend that Billy keeps insisting _isn't._ Like somehow Billy thinks that if he breaks and calls Steve his boyfriend, if he admits to how deeply he feels for Steve, somehow, that will ruin whatever delicate thing they're building. Like keeping the relationship away from labels keeps it safe. 

It's ridiculous. 

Almost as ridiculous as the way El has somehow managed to fall asleep halfway through the utterly ridiculous, terribly bombastic and not to mention very, very _loud_ action movie that she'd picked after about an hour of the four of them arguing over what to watch—Billy's choice having been, as it always is, a horror movie, Mike himself having wanted to watch a comedy, something light, and fun and Steve having picked a musical.

Of course, between the four of them, nobody but Steve had wanted to watch the musical except so then, in an act of pure revenge, Steve had vetoed the horror movie, said he found them too scary and no amount of, "But you can just hide your face against my body if you get scared!" from Billy had done anything at all to persuade him otherwise. And (unfortunately for Mike) nobody had much liked the comedy he'd picked, either. Too oddball, they'd said. Too weird. So El's choice—some random as hell 90's action movie—had won by default. 

So, of course, the one person who had actually _wanted_ to watch the damn thing has fallen asleep.

Of course.

Typical.

And Steve looks like he's about ready to join her, too, what with the way his head (and now his whole body) keeps nodding further and further forward. And then there's Billy with the ridiculous way he keeps angling his body towards Steve, like he's offering himself up as a safe place to land without ever saying anything, and well... that's typical, too.

Because Billy almost never really _says_ anything. It's always all about reading between the lines with him, understanding the look on his face, and knowing what he means by all his idiotic but sweet little gestures and that's fine for the tiny, ragtag crew of friends he's managed to scrounge together for himself but this? With Steve?

Mike can tell he's going to have to poke and prod his friend a little to make sure he doesn't lose out on something that clearly makes him happy. Even though he already kind of has it anyway.

So when Steve's body finally gives in and he _finally_ slumps face first all over Billy like the world's biggest, fluffiest haired lap dog, Mike can't help himself. He winds up whisper-shouting at Billy, "You know he's just as gone on you as you are on him, right? Like I've seen the two of you taking turns staring at each other while the other one isn't looking and let me tell you, that shit is not cute. And the weirdest part? You're already dating! You just won't admit it's anything serious!" 

Billy makes a grab for some popcorn from the big, wooden bowl that's wound up squashed between himself and Mike and he tries to shrug all nonchalant-like, as if it's nothing, even though Mike can totally see the big, goofy grin that he's trying to hide because he got exactly what he wanted: Steve passed out, sprawled all over his lap, all up close and warm and everything. Mike can _see_ the grin even though the room is near pitch dark, the only light coming from the TV screen. And it's not that big a TV, so the light it's throwing isn't really all that much.

"I mean—" Billy starts, only to be cut off by a loud grunt and a wildly flailing arm from El. 

"Don't touch me. Don't fucking touch me," she growls, her voice going low and deep.

But nobody is. Nobody is anywhere near her.

It took a while for Mike to learn, but he knows that El can't stand to be touched while she's sleeping, so anytime she falls asleep during a movie—during an anything, really—he knows to do the opposite of what Billy had done for Steve. He knows to push her away, rather than draw her near. No matter how much he hates doing it. No matter how much he wishes he could grab her and hold her close until her nightmares go away, he knows that sometimes this happens and when it does anybody _actually_ touching her only makes it _worse._

"I said don't touch me!" she shouts, almost loud enough to wake Steve, almost louder than the big, heavily muscled and blonde male protagonist in the movie is currently doing as he fires off his gun.

So Mike matches her in opposites, where she's rough and wary, he's soft and reassuring. "Nobody's touching you, El. You're safe. It's alright."

"Good," she mumbles, then grunts heavily and turns over so she's facing towards the big, overstuffed couch cushions. 

And Mike can't help it. He sighs. 

Five years in and she's still never told him (or Billy or Heather or Max, for that matter) why she has the nightmares that she does, why she reacts to certain things the way she does. 

And he loves her anyway, of course. He'll always love her anyway, even if she never tells him any of it ever. But still. Sometimes. He wonders. 

"So—" Billy starts then stops. "I mean—" 

This, of course, is when Steve yawns and sits up, his hair still fresh as a daisy and the look on his face more foggy than anything previously known to man. 

He blinks at the screen and then squints like he doesn't recognize a single thing on it. "What'd I miss?" he asks, all fuzzy and cute in a way Mike can't help but find annoying if only for the way it's making Billy blush and look away. 

"You fell asleep with your head in my lap. Again," Billy says, all soft, just as Mike says—

"Oh, nothing," because that's what's been accomplished here tonight. Absolutely nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The cupcakes for this chapter are peanut butter fudge. Here is a recipe for [peanut butter fudge cupcakes.](https://www.finecooking.com/recipe/peanut-butter-chocolate-fudge-cupcakes)


	5. Party packed piña colada

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompts for this one are:
> 
> 42\. "You know I'd go anywhere you were, right?" and 63. "I love this giant dork." 
> 
> from wingedbears
> 
> +
> 
> 2\. "No, only I get to touch me there.”
> 
> from anonymous.

**~** **~**

Robin, surprisingly or not, hates parties. She hates them more than kung-fu movies (and the stupid way Dustin and Steve mouth along with them every time they watch one). She hates them more than the smell of hardboiled eggs (her least favorite food) and she hates them more than sweeping the kitchen floor in the bakery at the end of the day (especially if Dustin's been baking his Piña Colada cupcakes, the ones with the sprinkles because the sprinkles, they get _everywhere)._

She just out and out, completely, fully, and totally _hates_ parties so she avoids them at all costs. Generally, she's successful at this goal since most of her friends _know_ she hates parties.

Well, most of her friends… except for Steve. 

Steve somehow just never got the message and sometimes he still insists on dragging her out to some party or other and it's always for some good reason, something she can't resist or back out of. 

And unfortunately for her, tonight is one of those times. 

And she absolutely, fully, completely, and totally _does not want to go._

"Come on, it's only gonna be like… ten people and you already know most of them," Steve says from the doorway, having snuck up just to say this like he's come stalking out of the depths of her mind or something.

But then they've been friends since the summer after high school, meaning about ten years or so, or in other words, about long enough to basically be able to read each other's minds just from seeing certain facial cues. And Robin knows that she might as well have "I'd rather eat ten hard-boiled eggs than go to this party" written in big, black, fuck you sharpie all across her forehead what with the way she's scowling. The look might as well be surgically grafted to her lips at this point, honestly. She's been sitting in front of her vanity for the past half an hour _pretending_ to still be doing her makeup and her hair but really trying to erase that scowl. 

But no such luck. 

She sinks down on her raggedy pale pink stool, her body listing towards the floor; she wants to become one with the floor. Lying on the floor sounds like a better time than this party does. But still, she says, "I know this party is important to you," although silently she adds, _I just don't want to go._ "I know Billy's friends meeting your friends is important to you."

Steve rolls his eyes and blows a breath up and out so hard it ruffles his hair. "It is! I just—"

Robin cuts him off. "Want this to work, I know." She sinks further towards the floor. "Ugh." 

"Come on," Steve says, all kind, all hopeful. He takes a step towards her as easy and graceful as if he's gliding on water but also simultaneously like he's approaching a scared deer. It's impressive. She's impressed. "We don't even have to stay for long." 

Robin looks towards the floor. It still looks just _so_ inviting. But instead, she gets to her feet and smoothes out her skirt and grunts, "Fine." 

The brightness of the smile Steve shoots at her for even doing that much almost makes her feel guilty. 

Almost. 

(But not really.) 

//

At the party, Steve does his usual Steve thing and bursts into a frenzy of kinetic energy, bouncing from one person to the next to the next without so much as a pause for breath and Robin does her usual Robin thing and parks herself on the wooden picnic table at the back of the yard where all the food is and doesn't move for anything. 

Or, she doesn't mean to anyway, but then the most beautiful brunette she's ever seen comes strolling in draped over the arm of some feisty looking little redhead Robin is instantly jealous of and she's suddenly on her feet and walking towards them even as she's sure they're a couple—they have to be, with the way the brunette practically rolls her whole body back at some apparently hilarious joke the redhead just told her—but then the redhead breaks off and heads for some tall, skinny black guy lingering not far from the barbeque and she kisses him and then Robin is presented with a new question:

Is the beautiful brunette not dating the redhead or are they some sort of polyamorous?

She keeps crossing the yard anyway, drawn to this girl as if by a magnet. It's like a scene from a movie. Or it might be, if the girl isn't already taken. 

Or straight. 

It wouldn't be the first time Robin was wrong about something like this, she has notoriously terrible gaydar. She hadn't even had a clue that Steve was queer when she'd come out to him that first summer they were friends. Not that Steve had actively had much of a clue back then himself but looking back at least one of them should have known or noticed _something._ He was pretty freaking obvious, all things considered. 

Still. This girl.

Robin just has a feeling about this girl. If only she would look over, if only…

Robin is three steps away, she opens her mouth to say something clever (hopefully) or at least to try and say something not dumb but she's blocked by Billy and his big, dumb hair and by Steve and _his_ big, dumb hair so she lingers behind them as Billy makes the introductions. "Steve, this is Heather, my best friend. Heather, this is Steve." 

Robin notes that Billy doesn't call Steve his boyfriend and makes a mental note to punch him for it later.

"Best friend, huh?" Steve says, sounding like he's just brushed right past the whole _Billy-not-calling-him-his-boyfriend_ thing and makes a mental note to punch _him_ for _that_ later, too.

"Yeah," Billy says, his eyes so clearly on Steve that Robin can _tell_ even if all she can see is the back of his head. "I love this giant dork." 

Robin's sure he's talking about Heather but she knows he means Steve. Because he's a moron.

But then so is she. Or she will be, if she doesn't start pretending to be the adult she's supposed to be and just introduce herself to this girl already.

So, with a deep breath and her hands clasped tightly behind her back, she steps around Billy and Steve and says, "Hi, I'm Robin, I'm Steve's best friend," all bright and shiny and cheerful. She even manages to hold her hand out to Heather in this perfectly smooth and practiced way.

And Steve being Steve, he sees this and just has to ruin it, smirking and adding in, "You better not let Dustin hear you saying that," before Heather can so much as respond at all so Robin elbows him in the gut with the arm she's still holding out to Heather, totally breaking her cool and causing Heather to snort-laugh in just about the cutest way she's ever seen.

"Nice to meet you," Heather says, then holds out her own hand. They shake hands and it's awkward, lasting for just a moment too long and Robin's hand is all sweaty from embarrassment but if she notices, Heather doesn't seem to mind. 

Soon after that Steve and Billy strike up a conversation about something that involves Billy leaning in towards Steve and smiling and saying, "No, only I get to touch me there," like it's some kind of a punchline, but Robin is too distracted by Heather to know to what. Her and Heather get to talking about their jobs—surprisingly, Heather is a carpenter—and they talk about where they grew up—Robin and Steve in Hawkins, Indiana and Billy and Heather and Billy's sister, Max in Santa Monica—and they talk about what foods they like and don't like—Heather, it turns out, loves anything with mushrooms—and it's all stuff that's usually small talk, stuff that Robin usually hates, but… with Heather, she can't get enough. It's like every tiny detail Robin gets she wants more, like she's a dragon hoarding gold only instead of gold it's facts about Heather. 

They hang out for hours, just talking, just the two of them. They're just about the last to leave the party except for Nancy and Jonathan and that's just because it's their house. Well, that and Dustin, who seems to at some point in his life have made a deal with himself to always be the absolute last person to close down every single party, no matter the time or location. 

Eventually though, after the bonfire has burned out and all the decorations have been taken down (because Nancy can't stand to leave anything alone for even five seconds), Jonathan kicks them out and Heather turns to Robin and says, "I know this late-night burger place not too far from here, wanna go?" 

And Robin unexpectedly finds herself blurting out, "You know I'd go anywhere you were, right?" and meaning it completely even though it's more of an answer than the simple yes-or-no the question required. 

She half expects Heather to blush or get awkward at this bold proclamation, but instead, she smiles. Instead, she says, "Yeah, I feel the same way about you," and Robin can tell she means it. 

So they go to this burger place— _Benny's Burgers_ —and they wind up closing that down, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The type of cupcake for this chapter is piña colada. Here is a recipe for [piña colada cupcakes.](https://www.glorioustreats.com/pina-colada-cupcakes-recipe/)


	6. Baby, you spice up my world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompts for this chapter are:
> 
> 29\. "You're so unfunny it's a crime. Like look it up, it's actually in... whatever those big books they put all the laws in are called." 
> 
> 45\. "First my phone ran away, now it's my keys and I just… I wanna fucking go crawl under my covers and pretend today never happened."
> 
> And I picked them myself!

**~** **~**

"First my phone ran away, now it's my keys and I just… I wanna fucking go crawl under my covers and pretend today never happened."

This is the first thing Max says to Lucas as she slides into her bed after an aggressively long, aggressively stupid, aggressively frustrating day of classes and then a group project meeting and then researching at the library, all of which she did without her phone.

Thank god Lucas has been hanging out at her apartment all day working on his latest comic so she knew the door would be unlocked, but still, it really pisses her off that she's going to have to replace her keys tomorrow. 

"Mmmhmmm…" Lucas mumbles, his eyes still focused entirely on his tablet in his lap; if he hadn't made a noise, she would've wondered if he even knew she was here in the first place. 

So Max kicks him and his arm goes flying wildly to the left, hand dragging out along the screen as it goes. 

_This_ gets his attention. 

"Hey!" He looks up at her and she can tell from how dry and red his eyes are that he's been drawing and sitting in one position for _much_ too long. He looks back down and hastily swipes a finger over the undo button before looking back up at her. "It's a good thing I work digitally or else you could have seriously wrecked something for me with that move!" 

Max throws a pillow at his head. 

He catches it after it bounces off his forehead. He looks _furious._ "What the hell was _that_ for?" 

Max grunts. "Did you even _hear_ what I said when I came in?" 

Lucas's hands start to twist and pull at the edges of the pillow he's still clutching just a teeny, tiny little bit and he looks away from her, his anger melting quickly into embarrassment. "No."

"I said"—she punctuates her words by throwing another pillow at him—"My phone ran away, I lost my keys and I had a terrible fucking day and that's in addition to how ridiculously long it was."

"Oh." Lucas dutifully puts down his tablet on her desk, drops the pillow on the floor, and flops onto the bed next to her. "Well, you know a good remedy for a bad fucking day is some good old fashioned fucking, right?" He even bumps his head into her shoulder, like he thinks he's being _romantic_ or something. 

She wants to be annoyed at him for saying that, she really does, but she can't help it, she laughs instead. Even so, she says, "You're so unfunny it's a crime. Like look it up, it's actually in... whatever those big books they put all the laws in are called," just to try to save face. And okay, maybe she didn't exactly stick the landing on that one, but she figures it's probably close enough. 

Or she does until he gives her this careful once over and he says, _"Wow._ You really _did_ have a bad day, huh?" 

This time, she's the one that's suddenly angry and she finds herself shouting, "Well, duh!"

In response to this, he simply says, "Okay," kisses her right on the edge of her forehead, then bounces up and off the bed without a word to run out of the room towards, probably, the kitchen.

She sits in her room waiting, debating whether or not to follow after him or to murder him for being so criminally annoying, but he comes bouncing back in before she can make up her mind. 

He smiles at her all bright and shiny and tells her to close her eyes and hold out her hands. With much trepidation and not a lot of trust this isn't going to go very, very badly, she does. 

It takes a second, but soon something cold is placed in one hand and something reasonably large but not terribly heavy is placed in the other. 

Curious, she opens her eyes without waiting for him to say that it's alright to do so to find that he's placed in her hands her new favorite flavor of Ben & Jerry's—Netflix and Chill'd—and her favorite potato chips, the Terra ones that are actually not made out of potatoes, but beets and carrots and parsnips. 

"I may not have listened earlier but I did guess you'd have a bad day. I knew today you had three classes, a group meeting and then research," he says, beaming like he's just massively proud of himself. "So I camped out here all day, waiting for you to get back—"

"You ate all our food, used our wi-fi, and napped on my bed, don't try to act like—"

 _"I camped out all day waiting for you,"_ Lucas repeats, like his words can overwrite her own. "I bought your favorite snacks, and—" he pauses to scramble to her desk and grab her laptop. He perches himself on the edge of the bed as he pries it open, entering her password when prompted then bringing up Google Play Movies. "I rented that horror movie you've been wanting to see, _Midsommar_." 

He crawls up so he's sitting with his back up against the wall and he drags her so she's sitting next to him. "See, I pay attention," he says. "I know how to do the boyfriend thing."

He presses play on the movie and she pops open her bag of chips and she'll admit it, he actually kinda does. But rather than actually admit to that _out loud_ she just says, "Yeah, yeah, okay," and offers him some of her chips. 

But not the ice cream. Because _that_ she shares with no one. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The cupcakes for this chapter are spice cupcakes with caramel frosting. Here is a recipe for [spice cupcakes.](https://www.tasteofhome.com/recipes/spice-cupcakes/)


	7. Velvet revolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From haxprOcess on tumblr:
> 
> 18\. "You smell like candy canes and grilled cheese sandwiches. 'S nice." 🥺🥺🥺

**~** **~**

"Stevie," Billy says, drunk and near delirious, "I mighta punched a guy." He grins wide and the just barely crusted over split in his bottom lip cracks wide and leaks blood. There's also blood smeared _all over_ his teeth from earlier and blood on his pride t-shirt but still, somehow, even with all of this he looks like a five-year-old just roused from a nap and just absolutely _desperate_ for cuddles. 

Still, even with all of _that,_ Steve squeezes his eyes shut and smashes his hand into his face. He groans. "You know I would've come if you'd told me," he says. 

"You had to work," Billy says, giggling, again like he's five and like work matters when there's more important things going on and Steve's heart fucking goddamn _trembles_ in his chest. 

"Was a good protest, though," Billy says, clearly in the process of being devoured by sleep and not bothering at all to fight it. And _then_ he leans forward and rubs his head up and down Steve's shoulder like he's a goddamn cat or something. "You smell like candy canes and grilled cheese sandwiches. 'S nice." 

Billy's gonna kill him. This is so cute Steve's gonna need an ER and an injection of like, he doesn't even know what just to stop him from falling to pieces over just how unfairly goddamn _cute_ this all is. And it shouldn't be. Not at all. Billy is covered in _blood,_ for fuck's sake. He got in a _fight._

He's…

Just utterly adorable, is what he is.

Steve looks to Heather, but she's absolutely no help whatsoever, she just reaches over and rubs Billy's head with an affection so pure it almost _aches._ "You did _so_ good today, bud," she says softly and with too much affection. 

Then her eyes track up to Steve's and her look cools. "I think I'll leave him in your capable hands for the night," she says as she digs herself up and out of the ridiculously deep cushions of Steve's aggressively overstuffed couch that they'd all crashed into almost as soon as Heather had dragged a drunk and stumbling Billy through the front door because apparently he'd just demanded to be brought here, like here was the only place he wanted to be, _needed_ to be.

With a grunt and a less than subtle adjustment of the flowing, rainbow-striped skirt she's wearing she walks to the front door before turning back to Steve and giving him a long and appraising look. "Take good care of our boy here or Max'll be _pissed,_ " she says just before she swings the door open and slips out, only just barely remembering to close it behind her.

Steve sighs the second she's gone and somehow all the tension in his body seems to suddenly evaporate only to be replaced with an entirely new type of tension as he looks down at Billy and all his messy, sweaty, bloody, _golden_ curls. 

And Steve knows, he just knows, he's just so, so, _so_ screwed. They barely even know each other and already everything in him is straining to touch Billy, to kiss him, to hold him. To _love him._ This started as mostly a casual thing but that… that was months ago. Now… Now… Oh, man...

He breathes in once, catches the scent of Billy all sweaty and gross and he knows—he already loves him. He's already gone. It's already over.

They barely know each other and already he's so steeped in love for this big, dumb idiot that his bones are soaked to the core and soft with it. 

Against him, Billy's head tumbles from his shoulder to his chest and Billy snores as his nose presses in deep. Steve can feel him breathing all calm and slow and even and Steve realizes with a dawning sort of horror and a deep, deep terror that he's never felt more at ease or more at peace in his entire life than he does right now. Not once, not ever.

So he swallows, grits his teeth, and lets himself slowly, gently, _quietly_ run his fingers through Billy's hair. 

In his sleep, Billy makes a disgustingly happy noise and Steve thinks: _Tomorrow._

Tomorrow he'll tell Billy that he wants more. That he wants a real relationship, not just kissing and hanging out and kink. Tomorrow he'll tell him and maybe they'll be able to work something out. Tomorrow he'll tell him and maybe he'll get to keep him. 

Maybe he'll get to make Billy understand that, this? This right here? This is all he wants. 

He scratches Billy's scalp roughly with his nails and Billy moans _aggressively_ then snores louder.

Steve hopes he gets to keep him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The type of cupcakes for this chapter are red velvet. Here is a recipe for [red velvet cupcakes](https://www.allrecipes.com/recipe/212429/red-velvet-cupcakes/).


	8. Death is coming to get you, Chocolate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From lostnoise on tumblr: 
> 
> 5 & 23 from the ace prompts 🤩
> 
> 5\. "I have been waiting for you my entire life." 
> 
> +
> 
> 23\. "You are not allowed to die first, got it?"

**~** **~**

Billy runs in through the front doors of the hospital at full speed, ready to roar and to scream and to tear the place apart but instead of any of that, he takes a deep breath, adjusts the strap of his duffle bag that he suddenly realizes he had no need to drag inside and looks around for the front desk. This isn't the hospital he's used to, so he has no idea where it is. 

And he can't find it.

He looks and he looks and he _looks_ and still, he can't _find it._

This isn't the hospital he's used to, he doesn't know anybody who works here and he's fresh off a really rough, really _long_ shift. 

He hadn't even gotten to go home and shower, he'd only just stepped out the door into the bright, warm, mid-afternoon sun, taken a single, deep breath, and only just decided his plan of action was he was gonna go home, shower, then maybe go surprise Steve with a pizza when he'd gotten _the phone call._ He'd thought it was Steve, the call was from his number and Steve had said he'd had something to tell him a couple of days ago but he hadn't actually gotten to saying it yet and…

And then instead it was Steve's friend, Dustin, and Dustin, a guy Billy's only met maybe twice, was all of the sudden telling him that Steve had been in a _car accident_ and was in the _hospital._

And he hasn't taken a single deep breath since. He just ran straight for his car, drove all the way across town to this neighborhood he _doesn't know_ and this hospital he _doesn't know_ and he tries to think of everything, of _anything_ El's ever told him about PTSD freak-outs or panic attacks, stuff she's said helps people calm down when they're experiencing things like that, because he's experiencing _something_ like that right now, he's got enough sense left to know _that much_ but none of what she's said is _sticking,_ none of it is _applicable_ and—

The rage he's gotten so good at tamping down boils over in his blood and swims in his skin and he feels like he's gonna scream but instead, he pulls at his hair, but he only manages to grab at his too-short, freshly shaved sides with not near enough left on top and he takes a breath, and he's going to scream, he's going to _scream_ —

But then there's a hand on his shoulder and a soft, sweet voice saying, "You need some help?" and everything in him crumbles as he turns to see a sweet-faced and tall (very, _very_ tall) man in poorly-fitting light blue scrubs standing behind him. 

"Uh, yeah," Billy says, somehow managing to get the words to push out past his numb, _numb_ lips, "do you, uh, do you know where the, uh, front desk is?"

The guy nods, shaggy brown hair falling into his big, brown eyes. (Which doesn't make Billy think of _anybody._ It _doesn't.)_

"Sure," the guy says, his hand still clamped to Billy's shoulder. "I'll show you." 

He directs Billy towards a slightly labyrinthine-looking set of corridors that Billy had distinctly avoided and he does it still with his hand on Billy's shoulder, guiding him like a captain guides a ship, like he'd seen the look on Billy's face, the terror and the panic and he'd recognized it. It makes sense. El and Mike are always telling him people panicked about—about _loved ones,_ those who really, truly _care,_ they almost always have the same look, even if it's contained itself to just their eyes, it's always there, it's always _present,_ that panic, that _fear._ And Billy guesses this guy, working in a hospital as he does, he's probably as familiar with that look as EMTs like El and Mike are. 

"Just right here. Ellen'll help you find who you're looking for," the guy says as he deposits Billy in front of the front desk with its big, red 'reception' sign, the one Billy wishes he could've—knows he _should've_ —found on his own. 

"Yeah, thanks," Billy says as the guy claps him on the shoulder and wanders off, probably to help some other poor soul like the good, _good_ dude he is. 

Ellen, the nurse behind the desk, on the other hand, looks Billy up and down appraisingly, cold green eyes assessing, assessing, _assessing,_ and clearly finding him _wanting_ somehow. Maybe it's the rough haircut Steve had given him just the day before, maybe it's the sweatpants and grungy white tank top he's wearing, maybe it's the big, fat, homemade "Station 52" logo patch on the front of his duffle bag that Max had custom made for him. Maybe this woman hates firefighters. Maybe she can tell that he's _gay,_ can _smell_ it on him and maybe she's _homophobic._

 _Or maybe,_ the last five percent of his brain capable of rational thought tells him, _maybe_ _that's just her face and it's not personal._

"Who're you looking for, dear?" she asks, even though she clearly thinks he's anything but _dear._

"Um, uh," he stammers and god, he hasn't been this awkward, hasn't said _um_ and _uh_ this much since _middle school,_ "Steve Harrington?"

Her face tightens, her tall stack of thick gray hair _wobbles_ just a little and Billy's stomach prepares itself for free fall, for bad news, for—

She looks down at her computer, types in a couple things then looks back up at him, and with as little emotion as Alexa, maybe less, she says, "Alright, he's in Room 357, just on the third floor—" She keeps going after that, keeps giving instructions like a freight train barreling through a door after that, but... Billy doesn't hear them. He's too overwhelmed with the taste, the feeling, the rush of sheer relief that hits him with the knowledge that Steve has a _room number,_ which means that Steve has a _room,_ which means that Steve hasn't _died_ in the time it took him to drive here or in the time he spent wandering, lost. It means Steve isn't in _surgery_ and these are all very, _very_ good things.

That surge of joy fades out with a mewling whimper after Billy gets lost another two times looking for Steve's room, as it occurs to him, _What if Steve's only not in surgery because he's too weak to survive it?_ And, _Just because he wasn't dead however many minutes ago, doesn't mean he's not dead now._

And he still _can't find the room,_ isn't even sure he's on the right _floor_ anymore, but there is one thing he knows for sure, one thing he knows for certain: whenever he sees Dustin, he's gonna tear him limb from limb, gonna tear him apart, gonna rend flesh from bone for not telling him more over the phone than, "Steve's been in a car accident and we're at St. Mary's, you should get here like, now."

As he wanders down _yet another_ meaningless white hallway, he feels that rage boiling again, feels like he's going to lose it again until he turns a corner and sees Dustin and Steve's other friends, Nancy and Jonathan all sitting in the hall, all lined up in a row of old, creaky, metal and ugly navy felt hospital chairs. 

He almost smiles at having finally, _finally_ found the right floor, the right room—because _of course_ there's a whole crew of people waiting for his boy, _of course,_ there is, but—

Then it occurs to him:

_Why are all these people waiting here?_

_Why are they all…_

He looks around at all their faces and each and every one of them has that pinched look, that capsized-rowboat-in-the-ocean look that Mike's told him about, that _panicked_ look that _loved ones_ get that El's talked about, that restless, hopeless _rage_ that he's been feeling on and off since he got _that_ _call_ and if—

And if they all look the same way then maybe…

Then maybe those feelings he's been feeling aren't an overreaction like the last five percent of his brain capable of hope has been hoping, praying, wishing for them to be.

That last five percent shuts down and dies a quiet, lonely death as his eyes connect with Jonathan's and he sees _fear_ there, sees _panic,_ and sees _rage_ there. 

He feels himself capsizing in the ocean of this near stranger's sad brown eyes and as his terror over this spreads he feels his stomach pick itself up and ready to launch at his lungs which have suddenly decided to forget what it is they're supposed to do, like they've ever had more than just the one job and now maybe they're just a little confused. 

Billy himself is a _lot_ confused because he and this guy just keep _staring_ at each other and _nobody is saying anything._

 _Why is nobody saying_ **_anything?_ **

Then someone comes stumbling into him from behind, pushing his overstuffed duffle bag into his back and saying, "Well, it certainly _took_ you long enough," and it's Robin, he's pretty sure that's her voice, anyway,and the way she says that sets Billy's _teeth_ on _edge_ because he can't figure out her _tone,_ can't figure out what she _means_ and—

She points him in the direction of Steve's room, even if it's almost right in front of him and he's grateful, really, he's grateful (he's grateful and he's _terrified)_ as she pushes him inside, not giving him the space nor the time to chicken out or run away. 

And he lets out a sigh at the sight of Steve lying before him, lets out a sigh even as his heart ripples and creaks under the weight of his sudden exhaustion. 

He pulls a smooth, blue, and terribly squeaky plastic chair up to the side of Steve's bed and he puts his bag down beside him and he tries to hold his breath, tries not to smell that cloying, abrasive antiseptic smell that fills the room, tries instead to imagine Steve's favorite cologne, that woodsy, citrusy one. 

He tries not to focus on the IV in the back of Steve's hand, tries not to focus on the cannula in his nose, tries instead to think of Steve pressed up behind him in bed, of Steve's hands warm and comforting on his chest and Steve's nose pressed into his hair or the back of his neck and inhaling deeply.

He tries to ignore the cast on Steve's left arm and the thick, white, starchy-looking bandages that seem to be growing almost up and out of that cast to trail all the way up to his shoulder, tries to ignore the cuts all over his pretty face and how they might have gotten there, tries to ignore the way Steve's eyes are closed and what that might mean, tries to ignore the heart monitor and all of it's squiggly, ugly, little lines, he tries to ignore _all_ of that and just see _Steve—_

 _He tries to_ but he _can't._

"I have been waiting for you my entire life," Billy says. He grabs Steve's good hand and grips it tight. "You are not allowed to die first, got it?" 

Steve surprises him by squeezing back and saying, "I'll try my best," and being an idiot and trying to _sit up_ even though he's got a broken arm, is covered in bandages and has an IV in his hand _and_ —as his hospital gown slips down his chest to show Billy—it turns out he's _also_ covered in several of those ugly, little sticky things they only ever use on you if they're really worried something might just _happen_ with your _heart_ to make you fall apart and _die_ within _minutes._

Billy pushes him back to the bed with his free hand on his good shoulder and winds up positioned _very awkwardly_ for a moment before Steve finally relents and lays back down.

What Steve says next only makes it worse. 

"I'm fine, though, you know." 

Like it's nothing. Like getting into a _car accident_ and being in the _hospital_ is _nothing._ Billy supposes it's meant to be _comforting,_ to be _reassuring,_ but instead it makes Billy see _red._

"You're in the hospital," Billy says, trying for soft, and, he knows, falling short of his goal by at least fifty feet or more. Probably much more. He wants to cradle Steve's face in his hands and press sweet, quiet kisses to his lips, but instead, Steve said _that,_ and now he's _snarling._ He can't _help it._

"Yeah," Steve says, voice either forced calm or drugged oblivious, Billy isn't sure which, "but it's okay, the doc says I'll be fine in a couple months or so. It's not a big deal."

"Oh, yeah? Well, this"—Billy stops to point at one of the ugly, little sticky things still sticking up out of Steve's very loose and probably very poorly tied hospital gown—"says different."

Steve makes a face like he doesn't get it, doesn't get why having to have your vitals monitored that closely is _a very bad thing._ "I'm fine," he says again, petulant as anything and again, making it worse.

"You're in the _hospital,"_ Billy says, louder this time. He can feel himself growing sharp and he feels overwhelmed, feels a need to _claw_ at something, to _scratch,_ to _bite._ To _destroy_. He waves at Steve's entire body this time. "This is the very definition of _not fine!"_

Lucky for him, this is exactly when Dustin strolls in carrying flowers and looking particularly distressed.

Unlucky for him, the second Dustin sees him he says, "What the hell, man? I barely got to telling you we were here and you told me you were coming and hung up. Me and Robin tried calling you back like _six times_ and no answer. We were just about to send someone out _looking_ for you." 

And. 

_"Oh."_ It's all Billy can think to say. Then, "Sorry."

But then Steve just has to pipe back in with, "See? If you'd let Dustin get to it, he'd have told you that I'm fine, too." 

And boy, is that ever the wrong thing to say because it has Billy roaring with, "You are _in_ _a hospital_ with a _broken arm_ and _cuts_ all over your _face,_ Steve, you are not _fine."_

And Dustin politely interjecting with, "Okay, woah, woah, nobody said anything about you being _fine._ There's a lot of distance between you and 'fine' right now, okay, Steve." Then he looks over at Billy and hesitates for a second before seeming to decide that yes, he does, in fact, need to add in this next part. "But also, Billy, you should probably know he also has six broken ribs and some pretty severe bruising, too. It's not just his arm and his face."

Steve's eyes narrow, that medicated calm sliding from his face even as Billy sees the last drops of whatever medication they've got him on dripping down from the bag and into his IV line. 

"You literally came over with your hair singed _last night,"_ Steve says, like he thinks the fact that Billy has a dangerous job and he doesn't is somehow going to win him this argument. Like that somehow _matters_ right now.

"Yeah, and that was just my hair! _You're in the hospital!"_ Billy shouts. This time, he fully shouts because apparently, Steve's not going to get it unless it's screamed at him.

"And I'm _fine!"_

Or maybe he's just not going to get it _at all._

From the doorway, Dustin _laughs_ and Billy is on him in a _second._

"What's so funny?" he snarls but Dustin keeps laughing.

"Just…" he says, unable to stop laughing even as he's trying to speak. "Just say 'I love you' and get it over with, already, both of you."

Steve's face goes as tomato red as Billy's suddenly feels. 

But neither of them says it. Neither of them says _anything._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The cupcakes for this chapter are spicy red pepper and chocolate. Here's a recipe for [cinco de chili chocolate cupcakes.](https://www.allrecipes.com/recipe/218220/cinco-de-chili-chocolate-cupcakes-with-chili-cream-cheese-frosting/)


	9. Heart of the galaxy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From bisexual-cupcake on tumblr: 11, 48, 51 for the ace prompts please and thank you! ☺️
> 
> 11\. "Fuck the avocadoes! We're leaving!"   
> +  
> 48\. "But see that's kind of the problem: I love you. Like crazy, stupid love you."   
> +  
> 51\. "What do you mean, they were flirting with me?"

**~** **~**

"Fuck the avocadoes! We're leaving!" 

Billy looks up from the avocadoes he's currently hunting through—they're all as hard as rocks and normally he'd just say fuck it and buy them anyway, leave them in a cupboard for a few days to ripen but they need to make guacamole and get to a party in a little less than an hour, half an hour now, probably, so there isn't exactly time for that. 

"Did you hear me?" Steve yelps loudly, all frustrated. "I said fuck the avocadoes! Let's go!"

Billy bites down on his bottom lip but he bursts out laughing anyway. 

"What?" he asks, smiling wide at his big, dumb idiot and glad that he can. It's been two months since the car accident and Steve was released from the hospital after the end of the first week but this is one of the first days he's been up for doing much more than walking around the block or going to the park at the end of their street, then falling asleep in the sunlight because the walk there had tired him out almost completely.

"Let's go. _Please,"_ Steve says, sounding about as soft as the navy blue sweater he's wearing. He looks distressed all over, honestly, with the way the collar of said sweater is stretched to the point of ridiculous, to the point where it's hanging off of him and _just_ exposing some of his scarred over but still heavily marked-up shoulder. And his hair's all flat on one side because his left arm still doesn't _quite_ work right even though the cast got removed two days ago and he refuses to let anybody help him with his hair. Or with his clothes. Or with his anything, really, but Billy, Dustin, and Robin as well as Nancy and Jonathan have all been taking turns being with him, helping him out with as much as they can, whether he _wants them to_ or _not._

He won't let anybody touch his hair, though. No matter how many times anybody offers, not even Billy. 

No, instead, he just sulks and moans and complains about it endlessly, flopping onto the couch and complaining like this is all just such an _inconvenience_ to him. And then there's the way he keeps staring longingly at the kitchen like it's a friend he misses dearly, but he won't let Billy help him bake, either. 

Dustin had tried to bring over some galaxy cupcakes once, ones he'd made just for Steve—they'd been gorgeous, they'd had this swirling pink and blue and purple glossy icing that made them look like they had galaxy print on them and the cupcakes themselves had been blueberry and freakishly delicious—but they'd just made Steve sadder because he hadn't been able to help make them.

And if any of this had been anybody else, it'd be annoying. But with Steve, it's somehow endearing. On Steve, all of this, from the whining to the messy, flat hair to the never-ending parade of soft and clearly worn-out clothing… it's just beautiful. Steve's just beautiful, no matter what. So, of course, the words, "I love you, you big, dumb idiot," almost come flying out of Billy's mouth, like he can practically taste them, can practically feel them pressing up against his teeth and fighting to claw their way out but Billy shakes his head and holds them back. 

Now is not the time. It was not the time in the hospital and it isn't the time now. So instead of saying anything, Billy just shakes his head and smiles at Steve and hopes this gets across what he means to say, needs to say, _can't_ say.

It doesn't. 

Or at least it doesn't seem to, what with the way Steve stares at him, expression pointedly blank as he says, "I just—" and goes to cross his arms across his chest, then thinks better of it halfway through and winds up with his good arm slung across his chest awkwardly and his bad one still hanging limply at his side. "I just want to go. _Now."_

With a closer look, Billy notices the way the garish, bright lighting of the little neighborhood grocery store they're in is bringing out the bags under Steve's eyes and the paleness of his skin and it sends Billy's stomach lurching sideways, has him thinking about things he doesn't want to think about. Things like Steve in that hospital bed and how it could have gone so, so much worse, so, so easily. 

So he puts the avocado in his hand down on the pile and takes Steve's bad hand in his. "Okay," he says. "We'll go." He debates asking Steve why the sudden need to leave, but then decides against it. In addition to the whining and complaining and being cutely annoyed, Steve's been a little on edge lately, stressed out in ways he didn't used to be and Billy thinks, Billy's pretty sure, it probably has something to do with stress over the car accident, over not being able to do as much as he wants, over how bad it is and was in ways Steve still can't quite cope with and, _well…_ Billy knows a little something about that kind of stress and he knows Steve won't talk about it until he's really good and ready, so if Steve wants to leave the store, no matter how suddenly, then they'll go, simple as that. Well… almost simple as that.

Billy lifts up his other arm—the one with the bulky black plastic grocery basket balanced in the crook of his elbow and he shakes it slightly. "Just gotta pay for this first," he says.

Steve's face screws up unpleasantly, his nose crinkling and scrunching. "Okay," he says, not looking in the least like he agrees with what he himself just said. "Fine. That's… that's fine."

Billy squeezes his hand once then twice before dropping it and turning around. They walk to the front of the store and put their things on the little black conveyor belt thing to be scanned, then they fight over who gets to pay and Steve loses. 

Partly he loses because his argument of, "But come on, I'm not doing anything else right now," pales in comparison to Billy's, "Because you were _just_ in a _car accident!"_ and partly because after Billy says _that_ the cashier with the dyed cherry red hair and blood red, lacquer-bright lips ever so slightly angles the debit machine towards Billy and looks Steve over, eyes wide and somehow suddenly _very_ interested. 

And Steve, of course, just stares right back with his big, brown Bambi eyes, clueless and not getting it, not _at all._

"A car accident, huh?" the cashier says, voice all nasal and totally grating, again, not that Steve notices. 

"Yeah," he says quietly. "It was pretty bad." Which is, honestly, a shock. This is the first time he's said anything other than that it was okay, it wasn't that bad, wasn't that big a deal. So of course he says it to some random pretty stranger. And Billy can admit that they're pretty, what with the way their soft silver eye makeup is blended perfectly and with the way whatever foundation they're wearing is making their skin glow like some unholy and gorgeous space demon. 

Billy can also admit that it hurts. A lot. Having Steve admit something like that to someone else when he's the one that's been taking care of him this whole time? It hurts. _A lot._

"That sounds _terrifying,"_ the cashier says, all alluring as they lean forward, their lithe, toned arms going to rest on top of the bar the debit machine is resting on, their eyes never leaving Steve's, not for a second.

In response, Steve nods and sighs and does that cute thing he does where he runs his hand through his hair, which still works, even with his hair as much a mess as it is right now because he's still Steve and he's still beautiful and clearly the cashier thinks so too as they're smiling back at him, all dopey eyed and everything.

So, with all this going on, as soon as he's done paying, Billy grunts, grabs his thankfully already bagged groceries, loops his arm through Steve's as possessively as he possibly can, and drags him out towards the Camaro, suddenly feeling a very strong need to kiss him, to _claim_ _him_ right in front of this stupid little store, right out in the open where that cashier can turn around from their spot at the register and watch him doing it because Steve is _his and everyone needs to know about it._

They just barely reach the car before Steve drops Billy's arm and starts to laugh. "Okay, now what's got _you_ so bothered?" 

Billy jerks the car door open and carelessly, gracelessly chucks his bag of groceries into the back seat then throws himself into the driver's seat with just about as much finesse, which is to say none at all. 

Steve gets in the passenger side much more carefully, almost gingerly, and gives him a look that says even if he didn't get what that cashier was doing, he knows what _Billy_ is doing. 

"Come on, what's bothering you?" he says, each word enunciated like it's being bitten off into its own sentence. 

Billy looks away. 

"That cashier was flirting with you," he says. He can feel his face heating up with the words, with the shame of it. He doesn't like being jealous, doesn't like feeling like he's feeling, like he's not enough, but whether he likes it or not, he can't help feeling it anyway.

Steve laughs again. "What? What do you mean they were flirting with me?" He sounds completely and fully confused, just like he always does because Steve literally _never_ gets it when anyone is flirting with him. He remembers the first time they met, remembers how he had to just ask Steve out, then and there, he was so clueless.

Steve never notices when he's doing it, either. Just does it, easy as anything; people think that Billy is a shameless flirt, and he _is,_ he absolutely _is_ but Steve is _worse,_ just turning on the charm full blast at random like he does with no cause for it or sense to it.

"They _were,"_ Billy says, insistent. 

He spins around in his seat, shoulders twisting, body turned completely towards Steve, completely open, absolutely all of him wanting to spill out the words, "I love you," and, "It's why I'm so jealous," all over him, like a big, old bucket of paint, just douse him with it, mark him with it and be done. But the words stay carefully locked behind and between his teeth, stay there itching and scratching like miniature razor blades and cutting just as much.

Steve shrugs. 

"If you say so," he says, as disbelieving as ever and that… oh, _that_ has the razor blades digging in deeper, has them carving up Billy's gums and his tongue and his cheeks, has them replicating, duplicating, multiplying, multiplying, multiplying until the words, _I love you, I love you, I love you,_ are filling up all the space in his mouth, all the little cracks and crevices in Billy's fractured, war-torn soul, until they're cutting him to pieces, splintering him into ribbons, until—

"Billy?"

Steve looks concerned, has those big, brown eyes trained on Billy's face in that way he just _knows_ Billy is powerless against, that has Billy swallowing all the blood in his mouth. 

"I, well, you," Billy stammers. 

He wasn't meant to love. Wasn't built for it, doesn't know _how._ He hadn't even _meant_ to, hadn't _meant_ to love Steve, it had just sort of happened on accident, like one day he was just sorta there, then one day Billy had just sort of loved him and it's irrevocable now, irreversible, he's incomplete without it where before he'd been totally fine, totally fine and happy on his own, thank you very much and now Steve with his big, stupid eyes and his big, stupid heart and…

Billy had almost lost him. 

Billy rubs his sweaty palms on his jeans and looks down. 

"You, you just…" He can't get it out. He doesn't know how, but the razor blades won't go down, won't _go away,_ no matter how many times he tries to swallow them down, they just won't _go away._ He can't go back, can't stand back, can't _unknow_ what he _knows_ now is unequivocally the truth. He _loves_ Steve. Like _loves him_ loves him.

"Hey, hey," Steve says, all warm, all soft, all melty chocolate chip gooey. He runs a delicate hand under Billy's jaw and drags it up, makes Billy look him in the eye. "Whatever the problem is, we can deal with it together. Right?"

That softness, the softness Steve is always saving up and using on him, _just_ on him, it shatters him, has him choking out: "But see that's kind of the problem: I love you. Like crazy, stupid love you." 

Steve's whole head twitches on instinct, either like he wasn't expecting to hear that or… Billy doesn't want to think about 'or'. 

Either way, Steve says, "And why is that a problem?" as his hand trails from Billy's jaw down the side of his neck to grip at his shoulder. "I love you, too, you know." 

For a moment, Billy sits with that, swallows it, lets the words and the feelings sink deep and fill him up whole, lets them strip away the razor blades and heal the cuts, soak up the blood they've left behind. Lets them sit until they go sour, bursting and bristling and bitter. So, so bitter. 

"You really shouldn't," Billy says.

He looks away again, looks back towards the store, and sees the cashier from earlier staring at them, makes eye contact, and doesn't look away. 

"Why not?" 

Steve's hand sits perfectly still on Billy's shoulder and Billy knows him well enough by now to know how much effort that stillness is costing him, knows how badly Steve wants to squeeze him, wants to force him to turn and _look_ and _face him._ But he doesn't. Because like always, he knows just what _Billy_ needs. Knows _Billy_ needs to be given time to come to it _himself._

"Because you just shouldn't," Billy says, still looking at the cashier, still daring them to look away. They don't. The words _because I'm broken_ go unsaid, but Billy knows Steve hears them just the same. 

Steve sighs and this time his fingers grip tight to Billy's shoulder, digging in _deep._

"No. No, you're not broken, don't even try and start with that," Steve says, voice suddenly shifting all the way from gooey to gravel to stone in all of about two seconds. 

Billy chuckles but it's mirthless, devoid, and hollow and cracking and _wretched._ "This isn't an ace thing, Steve," he says. 

"And who said it was?" Steve's fingers dig so deep it's like they're trying to find _bone._

"Maybe I don't know exactly what this is about—" His voice pitches into inky blackness, becomes dark as the night sky without a single star to light it and he says, "I don't know exactly why you seem to think this about yourself and you don't have to tell me, not right now and maybe just not ever if you don't want to, but I have noticed it and whyever you think that, whoever told you that, they're _wrong._ About absolutely _every-goddamn-thing,_ trust me. They're wrong. There is nothing _wrong_ with you, Billy Hargrove. _Nothing._ Alright?"

Billy shuts his eyes slow, lets his breath shudder out of him. All he's got is one word. "Why?" 

"Why what?" 

Billy squeezes his eyes shut tighter as Steve's grip loosens, as his fingers start stroking gently up and down his arm.

"Why are you—" _Why are you here? Why do you love me? Why do you care so much?_

Even unasked, Steve answers. "I'm nice to you because you deserve it. I'm nice to you because you're nice to me and I love you because I love you." Steve's hand trails down from his shoulder to his chest, rests over his heart. "You're so much better than you think you are. So much more deserving than you think you are." 

Billy opens his eyes to see Steve leaning in towards him, pressed in as close as he can be without just fully climbing into Billy's seat and sitting on his lap, not that he'd fit, anyway. 

Steve's hand over his heart tightens, fingers digging in like they're scrambling for purchase and that's when it clicks—Steve's _afraid._

Not _of him._ But _for him._ He's made Steve _afraid._ Steve cares enough to _be_ afraid for him, Steve wants to love him, wants to care. Steve _does._

Billy feels himself letting out a deep breath in a way he hasn't since just before he got _that phone call_ and he leans forward, presses into Steve's touch. 

"Okay," Billy says softly. 

Without thinking much of it, he takes Steve's hand, plucks it from his chest, and intertwines their fingers. 

"Okay," he says again. 

And he kisses him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The type of cupcakes for this chapter are galaxy cupcakes. Here is a recipe for [galaxy cupcakes.](https://rosannapansino.com/blogs/recipes/galaxy-cupcakes)


	10. Blockbuster butter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompts for this one are:
> 
> "hii! 62 for ace prompts!" 
> 
> 62\. "You were talking in your sleep. Why don't you tell me more about my 'stupid, perfect face'?" 
> 
> from wrecked-fuse 
> 
> +
> 
> "number 62 for the ace prompts? 👉👈🥺" 
> 
> from harringrovetrashh
> 
> 62\. "You were talking in your sleep. Why don't you tell me more about my 'stupid, perfect face'?" 
> 
> +
> 
> "OOO! I love your prompts! How about harringrove, 61 and/or 63 please?? :D" 
> 
> 61\. "You're adorable when you're sleepy."
> 
> 63\. "I love this giant dork." 
> 
> from prettyboyporter.

**~** **~**

It's late. They're watching some dumb rom-com on Steve's laptop at his and Dustin's place. And Steve is asleep curled up on Billy's lap like he's a goddamn cat and it makes Billy feel about eighteen different kinds of warm and soft and safe that all swirl and combine into this one entirely calming sort of feeling that's like nothing he's ever known. He reaches forward, fingers brushing the plastic-but-pretending-to-be-wood veneer of the coffee table, and pauses the movie to just sort of… soak in the moment. 

It's quiet. Dustin is out with Robin and Heather. The lights are off so the only light in the room is coming from the dim and far off orangey glow of the streetlights through the big window on the side wall and the laptop screen. The glow from which should be ugly, it's all blue and gross and cold but… 

Still, somehow, it manages to light Steve's skin up like he's an angel. And Billy doesn't wanna break the moment but he also can't help himself, he has to touch that skin, has to touch Steve. He skates the tips of his fingers delicately along the edge of Steve's jaw and savors the softness of that skin but also the firmness of his jaw. His fingers trail up the side of his cheek, just along his ear...

"Mmm…" Steve groans and Billy freezes, dead and still like a statue, not even breathing until Steve says, "Stupid, perfect, idiot… and his… stupid, perfect face…" making Billy burst out in laughter he tries but doesn't at all manage to contain.

With all this noise he expects Steve to wake up, but he doesn't, he just grunts and turns his head away from the laptop screen and its bright blue glare. 

Billy is _just_ debating risking touching him again when his phone screen lights up, letting him know he's got a new text or a new tweet or a new message on Snapchat or a new _something_ that either needs his urgent attention or that could easily be ignored completely. After a couple of seconds of debate, he decides to grab it anyway, knowing it's probably nothing important but too overcome by curiosity to _really_ ignore it either way.

It turns out to be a text from Heather saying, "You up, or did you take that pretty boy of yours to bed already?" causing Billy to snort. One of his favorite things about Heather? She is and has always been completely lacking in tact. And proud of it, too.

So he texts back, "No," and debates taking a pic of Steve sprawled out across his lap to send to Heather. He almost doesn't, but… then he does. He can't help it. He has to brag about his boyfriend to _someone_ and Heather literally (basically) just asked about him, so he sends the pic along with the text, "But he did fall asleep on me halfway through the movie he picked so sort of?"

He can all but hear the way Heather snort laughs as she quickly fires back with, "Awww, you love him." 

Billy smiles and types back, "Yeah, so?"

She responds with, "I knew back at that party when you said, "I love this giant dork," that you really meant him. You've got it BAD, my friend." 

He looks down at the sleeping man in his lap and nods, even though she can't see him doing it and comes back with, "Yeah, I do," to which she replies a huge string of smiley face emojis. 

They then trail off into talking about her and Robin and Heather's work and the baseball game they'd watched last week that had been _such_ a disappointment before Steve yawns and wakes himself up. 

The first thing Billy says to him the second his eyes are good and properly open is, "You're adorable when you're sleepy," and ruffles his hair. 

Steve yawns again and leans into the touch before replying, "Yeah, yeah," and the words could signal annoyance or irritation, but they don't. They're just as soft and as fond and as happy as Steve himself looks right now. 

So the next thing Billy says is, "Did you know you were talking in your sleep? Why don't you tell me more about my 'stupid, perfect face'?" and it's dark but Billy can still see the blush that creeps up onto Steve's cheeks over the comment.

Billy's about to tease him more, though he isn't sure about what when Steve surprises him by sitting up and moving himself so he's straddling his lap. "Okay," Steve says. "Your eyes are ridiculously gorgeous." He pauses to kiss Billy softly, chastely, quickly before backing up and speaking again. 

"Your eyelashes are long enough to make most girls jealous." 

And again he gives him another quick, sweet kiss. 

"Your cheekbones are divine." 

Another kiss. 

"Your lips are downright sinful." 

Another kiss. 

"And don't get me started on the rest of your body or we'll else be here all night and _I_ am _much_ too tired for all of _that."_ This time Steve yawns again and while it starts out being all for show it ends up being very real and sets off a matching yawn ripping through Billy that gets him feeling a little sleep fuzzy himself. 

He's pretty sure he manages to get out something like, "Let's go to bed then," before getting to his feet, Steve still clinging to him like an octopus. Somehow, he manages to drag the both of them to bed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The type of cupcakes for this chapter are popcorn flavored cupcakes. Here is a recipe for [ golden butter popcorn cupcakes.](https://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/golden-butter-popcorn-cupcakes-2269242)


	11. Pumpkin is for lovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompts for this chapter are:
> 
> 40 + 59 for the ace prompts? 😊💕
> 
> 40\. "You might as well just walk around with a sign around your neck saying 'perpetual asshole' on it." 
> 
> 59\. "Oh no, by all means, go ahead, laugh at my misery."
> 
> from magniloquent-raven
> 
> +
> 
> 7\. "I just don't. Want to! Why is that so hard to understand?" + 40. "You might as well just walk around with a sign around your neck saying 'perpetual asshole' on it." 💜💜💜💜
> 
> from nagdabbit

**~** **~**

Today is Steve's first day back at work since the accident and it's also Billy's day off so Billy's had nothing to do but to sit and to worry and to think everything to death since Steve left this morning. 

Well, he's had nothing to do but sit and worry and think everything to death _and_ text Steve, which he's been doing a lot. He's been trying to keep it light, trying to keep it easy all while also texting Max and snapping at every single thing she says. Because no amount of time nor effort nor therapy could ever truly make him not the kind of asshole who handles stress _real_ poorly. But. At least he isn't snapping at Steve. At least there's that.

//

Today is Steve's first day back at work and it's… good. It's great. It's… fine. Really. 

Okay, he's miserable. His feet hurt after only having been on them for three hours because after having been reduced to basically lying on his ass on the couch for months, his stamina is _garbage_ and his arm is _sore_ and his everything else _aches_ seemingly just because the rest of his body parts didn't want to miss out on the party his feet and his arm are apparently having and…

It sucks. 

The only thing keeping him going is texting Billy, even if Billy is pretending to be cool about everything rather than be honest and admit how stressed out he is about this. Steve expects to head to Billy's apartment at the end of the day and find that he's punched a hole into the wall. He's got 'nearest hardware stores' pulled up as a google search tab in the browser on his phone, just in case.

"Oh no, by all means, go ahead, laugh at my misery."

Steve's head snaps up as Dustin comes stomping into the kitchen followed closely by Robin and rather than pay attention to what Dustin just said, Robin is on Steve in an instant, dragging the tall, ugly stool over from the far side of the kitchen for Steve to sit on because she can tell just by looking at him, can tell just from the way he'd been leaning against the wall that he's exhausted just by standing. 

He sits down in the proffered chair without complaint and Dustin continues on with his rant like he'd never been interrupted in the first place. "Like. I just don't. Want to! Why is that so hard to understand?"

Steve looks at Dustin, then at Robin, who shrugs uselessly, before looking back to Dustin. "I take it your date didn't go very well?" 

Dustin huffs out a breath in the most dramatic, most Dustin way possible. "No, it did not."

Robin giggles and shoves her hand in front of her face before muttering, almost unintelligibly, "Tell him what happened." 

Dustin's face crumples up so hard it begins to resemble a crushed soda can more than it does a face, but he says, "The guy showed me a naked picture of himself in the middle of the date as a way to, I think, proposition me for sex." 

Steve feels his eyes try to separate themselves from his skull. He has no idea what to say to that so he just winds up gaping at Dustin blankly and fighting his eyeballs and their unrelenting urge to flee.

"Oh, he was totally trying to fuck you," Robin says. "He wanted him some curly haired nerd boy _real bad."_ She giggles uproariously.

Dustin makes a noise somewhere between a grunt and a squeak. "And, as I have said a million times before, I. Do. Not. Want. That." 

With a grunt of his own, though it's one borne of exhaustion and not defeat, Steve gets to his feet and goes to pat Dustin reaffirmingly on the shoulder. "I know, man," he says, because he does.

Before meeting Billy, his dating life had been the exact same way. A complete and unmitigated disaster filled with date after date full of uncomfortable sex-based cues he just didn't understand and really didn't like.

//

Max gets home from class sometime after one, spends ten minutes listening to Billy groan softly to himself and throw the same ball against the wall again and again and _again_ before finally deciding she's had enough and dragging him out to Navy Pier. It's tacky and cliche and touristy… and also the only place in the entirety of basically landlocked Illinois that even _remotely_ reminds either of them of California. And it's not that it _looks_ the same. Or that it _feels_ the same. But that it's a pier with a Ferris wheel and that's about as close as either of them is going to get around here.

So they go. And sometimes they go a _lot_ considering as they both quite frequently miss California but also love Chicago and the people they've grown to know and love in it.

It usually cheers one or both of them up when they're bummed out or angry or sad or whatever and today Max drags Billy, same as always, thinking it'll work its usual magic, same as always. 

Only it doesn't.

They wander around the tacky little gift shops and nothing. 

She buys him an ice cream and nothing.

She offers to ride on the Ferris wheel with him and _nothing._

The only thing that gets him to smile even a _little_ is a bakery with what appears to be pumpkin spice cupcakes out on display that he immediately takes pictures of and then starts texting, she thinks, Steve. 

And that's when she gets the idea.

//

Dustin sighs. "Thank you, Steven. _You_ on the other hand"—he turns to glare at Robin—"You might as well just walk around with a sign around your neck saying 'perpetual asshole' on it." 

Robin huffs, clearly unbothered by Dustin's accusation. "You know I support your right to not fuck whoever you please. I just think your reactions are funny." 

Steve's phone goes off and he struggles not to check it. 

"And a guy showing you naked pictures of himself in the middle of a date is _hilarious,"_ Robin says, grin nearly splitting her face in two.

Dustin scowls and Steve's phone goes off again and he loses the battle not to check it.

He has two texts from Billy. The first is a picture of some pumpkin orange cupcakes with white icing. The second says, "Yours are better," and Steve can't help but smile.

When he looks up Dustin is still scowling only now it's being directed _at him._

"What?" Steve asks, fully not getting it.

Dustin grumbles something Steve doesn't quite catch, throws his hands up in the air full drama queen style and stomps back out to the front room.

"What?" Steve says again, this time to Robin. 

Robin's still smiling but the meaning behind it changes a little. Now it's less like she's having a good time and more like she's about to explain something to him. (And she just _loves_ explaining things to him.) "He's just mad you have someone while all he can find are losers," she says.

"Oh." 

Robin shrugs like, "What can you do?" and she says, "Yeah." 

//

"I got an idea," Max says. 

Billy looks up, not exactly curious, but not… not curious, either. 

"Come on," she says, holding a hand out to him. He takes it, but he looks suspicious.

She doesn't tell him where they're going, just drags him to her car and makes him get in.

//

They arrive at the bakery and Billy sighs partly in annoyance with Max for coming up with the idea and making it some big secret, partly at himself for not getting it sooner than four blocks ago and partly in relief because annoyed as he might be at Max, he needs to be here and he's glad she's dragged him.

He walks in and the second he does, Dustin grumbles at him, "Of course you're here. Because you're _perfect!"_ And it sounds like an insult, it has the tone of one, but Billy doesn't remotely get why or what for.

"Why—" Billy starts trying to ask but Max's burst of laughter cuts him off.

Dustin makes a very loud noise and points to the kitchen. "Your boyfriend's in the back," he says, sour as anything.

Max laughs again and Billy just shrugs and heads for the back. He claps Dustin on the shoulder as he passes by and manages to keep his laughter to himself, but none of this impresses Dustin. 

In the kitchen, Robin is sitting perched on the back counter next to Steve, who is sitting on this scratched up, beat up, looks like it might just collapse under Steve's weight at any second stool. And Steve looks worse.

"Hey, Billy," Robin says, all soft, all careful. It's instantly weird. Robin is rarely ever soft or careful. She gives Steve a cautious look and says, "Do you maybe..." She clears her throat. "You know you could go home early, if you want."

Steve glowers at her and slowly— _much_ too slowly to mean anything other than he needs to be taken home _right now—_ gets up off his ugly, little stool and comes to stand by Billy. "I'm fine," he growls.

This time Billy speaks before Robin can get to it. "Yeah... considering how long it took you to get up off your stool and walk over to me I'd say you're not." 

Robin nods at him and he nods back and Steve grunts, "What? Are you two conspiring against me now?" He looks to Robin. "Did you text him and ask him to come get me?" 

Billy huffs. "No. Max brought me. I was being miserable and she dragged me to the Pier and when that didn't work she dragged me here." He puts a heavy hand on Steve's good side and Steve melts under the touch almost completely.

Billy waits for Steve to say something, or for Robin to, but when neither of them does, he leans in and kisses Steve, gentle and quick on the cheek.

"Let's go home, yeah? This was good enough for a first day, wasn't it?"

Fortunately, this is all the convincing Steve seems to need and he lets Billy lead him out of the bakery and to Max's crusty, old orange Beetle. 

Max is _incorrigible_ the entire drive back. She doesn't say anything in terms of words, but the smug smirk plastered all over her face says everything.

//

They go to Billy's without even discussing it.

Steve's not brave enough to admit it out loud yet, but he's started thinking of this place as 'home' as much as he hopes Billy thinks it is. And maybe he does. After all, Billy did say, "Let's go home?" didn't he? Not "Let's go to my place" or "Let's go, we'll pick where later" or even just "Let's go". He said, very specifically, "Let's go home." So maybe he meant it.

Or maybe it was just a casual slip of the tongue and Steve is overthinking things.

And maybe it's a terrible idea anyway. Maybe if they started living together, it would ruin everything. After all, Steve's never lived with someone he was dating. He's never had that kind of intimacy before. Sure, he lives with Dustin, and he figures that probably comes pretty close, but it's not exactly the same thing. What he's got with Billy is special. 

And he doesn't want to ruin it. 

There isn't time to talk about it either way though, even if Steve had wanted to, because Billy starts directing him towards the bedroom the second Max opens the front door and Steve is asleep the second he lies down on the bed and his head hits the pillow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I got kinda experimental with this one...
> 
> Also, the cupcake type for this chapter is pumpkin spice. Here is a recipe for [pumpkin spice cupcakes.](https://www.goodhousekeeping.com/food-recipes/dessert/a46088/pumpkin-spice-cupcakes-with-cream-cheese-frosting-recipe/)


	12. Partners in wine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got two prompts from a-magey that didn't wind up fitting into one chapter, so I split them up! This one is "60; “I love you. Please don’t go” Thank you, Giddy! 😊"

**~** **~**

The tragic thing is, Jonathan can't even remember the name of the play they're watching. It's some… he wants to say it's some sort of a community theater thing, but that's not quite right. Nancy's friend from work wrote it and he's pretty sure community theater is a term you use for a community coming together to perform a real play, not… this. 

But then saying this isn't a real play is probably offensive to the people in the play and the person who wrote it. The people who are on the stage are clearly acting their hearts out. Clearly, the guy who wrote this tried his best, clearly, he put everything he had into it, but…

Even so, that doesn't stop it from being the worst thing Jonathan has ever been forced to sit through. The theater they're in (if you can even call it that) is small and dark and smells like feet. And not just normal sweaty feet, either. No, this place smells like the feet of someone who has something seriously wrong with them. Someone who needs a doctor and  _ quick. _

The sets look like they were designed by a four-year-old and like said four-year-old's craft drawer was raided in order to construct them. The actors, even though they're all clearly trying their best, are acting like aliens that have never seen a human being before but that are trying to figure out how to imitate one anyway. Not that the stiff, brittle quality of almost every other line of dialogue is helping any.

In other words, Jonathan isn't much of a play person (he doesn't even know what you call fans of the theater, if they have a specific name for that or what) but even he knows that this play is garbage.

On stage this girl in a hideously patterned navy blue dress says, “I love you. Please don’t go!" stretching the words out in the most awkward possible way, putting the emphasis in all the wrong places. It's awful. Still, it gets Jonathan thinking, gets him remembering this time in college, when he and Nancy had been separated for a semester for a photography internship he'd been taking in New York. It had been, aside from the time in high school where he'd had to watch her date Steve, the most miserable time in his life.

He'd been excited when he'd signed up for it, thrilled with the idea that he would be getting to work with some of his real-life heroes in one of the coolest cities in the world.

And that part, once he got there, had been great. But…

But he'd had no idea, going into it, how much he was going to miss Nancy or how hard it was going to be on their relationship, going from living together, sleeping in the same bed together, always being within arm's reach for at least part of every day to being hundreds of miles away and only being able to connect over the phone and over text and not as often as either of them would have liked, either.

It was awful, almost the worst things had ever been and their relationship almost hadn't survived it.

And there had been this one time, one of the few weekends she'd actually managed to come visit, where they'd gotten into this huge fight and he'd said basically the same thing to her. 

He'd been missing her every day, every minute it had felt like, sometimes, but she'd surprised him, she'd shown up without warning and he'd already had plans with his New York friends, plans he couldn't just bail on last minute. He'd asked her to come with him, but she'd refused, saying she'd come to see him, not his new friends, not his life without her in it. And this had started a fight. 

A fight that had ended when he'd said, "I love you, please don't leave." Because by this point she'd packed up her things and she'd almost done it, almost left and he remembers, almost like it's happening all over again, the way his heart had thudded in his chest, the way he'd worried that she wasn't just planning on bailing on the weekend, but bailing on the relationship, bailing on  _ him. _

But then she'd turned around and she'd stayed. She'd gone to the photography show with him and his friends and she'd gotten to know them and she'd realized (she'd told him later that this had been her concern) that he wasn't moving on without her. That he wasn't out there in New York, living this exciting new life and forgetting all about her and their tiny, little apartment, their quiet, dull little life in Chicago. 

He reaches out across the fuzzy red armrest of his chair and grabs her hand, interlinking their fingers and rubbing his thumb up and down across the back of her pale, slender hand. She doesn't look away from the stage (she seems to actually be enjoying this disaster of a play, though he isn't sure if that's because she's seeing something in it that he isn't or if she's just enjoying it for the trainwreck of it all) but she does smile this small, soft smile he hopes is to do with him. The way she squeezes his hand makes him think that it is. He hopes that it is.

Either way, he leans back in his seat and takes a breath, letting it fill him completely and letting it wash away all thoughts of that terrible weekend, of that terrible time in their lives. 

Because in the end, things worked out. Because they're alright, they're happy and there's nothing else in the world he's ever wanted more. No one has ever made him happier than she does and he knows that no one ever will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The cupcakes for this chapter are Moscato cupcakes. Here is a recipe for [moscato cupcakes.](https://www.delish.com/cooking/recipe-ideas/recipes/a55058/moscato-cupcakes-recipe/)


	13. Basic bitch vanilla

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompts for this chapter are:
> 
> "11, 13, 14 🥺"
> 
> 11\. "Fuck the avocadoes! We're leaving!" 
> 
> 13\. "I am a complete and total asexual disaster."
> 
> 14\. "But sex is boring."
> 
> from harringrovetrashh

**~** **~**

This time, things actually _are_ good.

Steve's been baking _all day._ And okay, sure, he's had to take a lot of breaks, he's basically become best friends with that crusty old stool Robin dragged over for him on his first day back, but still. He's been _able_ to _bake._ _All. Day. Long._

He's made champagne flavored cupcakes ('cause he's gotta celebrate somehow), he's made bubblegum flavored cupcakes ('cause he feels light and fluffy and bright pink, super sugary cupcakes help represent that mood), he's experimented with this new recipe for salted caramel cupcakes (which almost worked!) and he's made these purple, grape flavored cupcakes he decorated with the best vanilla swirl icing he's ever made and these little rolled buttercream grapes that both look and taste _so good_ (he knows because he put a handful aside and absolutely devoured them all minutes after setting the cupcakes out in the display case).

So all in all, it's been a pretty good day.

Or, it is until Dustin comes rushing in all flustered. Literally. His hair is a big, giant, poofy mess like he's been tugging on it and running his hands through it relentlessly and there's a faint trace of sweat on his forehead and cheeks. 

"Steve! You _have_ to help me!" he pleads in this whispered tone that's entirely too loud to actually _be_ a whisper. But Dustin looks like he doesn't remotely _know_ that. So.

"Okay," Steve says, drawing the word out. His eyes dart around the room, looking for anything that might help and they quickly land on the box of champagne and bubblegum cupcakes he'd put aside for Billy and Max for later, realizing he just might need them sooner rather than later and for Dustin rather than for Billy. "What's up?" 

"There's a girl!" Dustin squeaks in that same _not-really-a-whisper_ tone. 

"Where?"

Dustin rolls his eyes and points at the swinging door he'd only just burst through. "Out there!" He looks like he's annoyed Steve didn't automagically just pick up on that _that's_ what he'd meant. 

"Oh." Steve pauses for a second before going to peek out the door. 

He gets swatted on the arm by Dustin for his troubles.

"Be careful!" Dustin for real whispers this time. "She might see you!"

Steve draws his head back into the kitchen and suddenly finds himself wishing that today _wasn't_ Robin's day off. He doesn't entirely want to be responsible for handling this situation by himself. But then he sighs and he looks at Dustin's pitiful, sad, oh-help-me-please look and he realizes he has no choice but to help.

After careful deliberation, he decides to go with full, brutal honesty. "I don't get it," he says. 

Dustin sighs. "She has an asexual pin on her shirt and I am a complete and total _asexual disaster!"_

"Okay…" Steve says again, drawing the word out for a second time. He's _definitely_ going to need the cupcakes. 

"Here," he says as he gently leads Dustin over to his trusty old stool. "Sit down." 

Dustin does. 

"Eat a cupcake." Steve grabs one of the pink bubblegum ones and hands it to Dustin. "And breathe for a second." 

Dustin takes the cupcake and frowns a little before plucking the maraschino cherry off the top and plopping it in his mouth. "Okay," he mumbles around the cherry. He sounds so sad and so forlorn and yet so ridiculous because of the cherry it takes an actual effort for Steve not to laugh at him. 

He eyes up the box of cupcakes and decides this effort is well worth a cupcake as a reward for himself (probably a champagne one so there's still two left for Billy and Max each), before saying, "Now I'm gonna go out and talk to the girl. You come join us when you're ready."

Dustin, eyes wide in panic, takes a bite of the cupcake and nods then swallows. "Okay," he says quietly. 

Steve gives Dustin's shoulder a reaffirming squeeze before heading out to the front room to get a full look at this girl that's got Dustin's head spinning this badly. 

When he sees her, like fully sees her, like not just a blink-and-you'll-miss-it look but really _sees_ her, he gets it. 

She's wearing a Star Wars t-shirt with a pin on it that says "But sex is boring" on it in the asexual pride flag colors. She's got long, flowing black hair. She's got a canvas messenger bag that has "Science: Ruining Everything Since 1543" printed on it. She's got flawless, soft, brown skin and glasses with frames so large they take up almost half of her face. And you'd expect from all of that softness for her to be, in essence, soft and sweet looking, maybe even shy, but she's not. Instead, she's got this innate confidence to her, this fierce determination and this look on her face that says, _Don't bother messing with me, you'll lose_ and…. 

Oh, boy.

If Steve was ever asked to describe Dustin's type, "tough as nails nerd girl" would have been exactly it. This girl would have been exactly it. 

No wonder Dustin's so freaked out. 

Then the girl turns to the counter and Steve springs into action. "Hi there," he says as brightly as he knows how. "Are you looking for anything in specific?" He makes a point of dragging his asexual flag colored pendant out from underneath his shirt and playing with it. He does it casually enough he knows it won't look like it's on purpose, but also bluntly enough he knows she'll see it. 

"Hi," she says, her eyes dragging across all the cupcakes in the display case and totally missing his necklace. "I'm not sure. It's a co-worker's birthday just today and everybody in the office forgot, so just kinda, anything you've got?" 

Steve makes a noise then looks to the kitchen before moving to grab a box. He wishes he could tell Dustin to get out here, that this girl isn't going to be around for long. "We could do like a mixed box? Just sorta one of every type so there's a variety? How many co-workers do you have?" 

Her eyes roll up into her head as she mentally counts off how many co-workers she's got. "Six," she finally says. "Seven, including me." 

Steve makes a noise of general assent then starts opening the display case from the back. "Okay. Seven cupcakes, coming up." He grabs one of each of the types they have except for the basic vanilla ones Dustin made this morning—the ones he'd labeled "the basic bitch vanilla"—and sets them into a box. 

It's when he's moving to stand and put the box on top of the display case that she finally sees his necklace. "You're ace too?" She says it in the same breathless, excited way every asexual person does on finding another asexual in the wild. 

He smiles. "Yeah, so's Dustin," he says with a careful thumb pointed back towards the kitchen. "We originally met at an ace meetup during pride five years ago."

She smiles back but it's hesitant and Steve can't help but wonder a little at why. She fishes her debit card out of her bag and asks, "How much?" pointing at the cupcakes and pointedly not asking about Dustin. 

Steve thinks maybe it's best Dustin _isn't_ out here and that this girl's about to leave, so of course, that's when he comes rushing out. 

"That'll be $21.00, please," Steve says, picking up like there's nothing weird going on. 

"Sure," the girl says. She forcefully shoves her debit card into the slot in the debit machine as Steve hands it over, her eyes still firmly on Dustin. 

"So you're Dustin, right?" she asks, her eyes finally flicking downwards for just long enough to input her information.

Dustin nods. 

"And you're asexual, too?" 

Again, Dustin nods. 

She yanks her card out of the machine and gives Dustin a tough, appraising look. Then she smiles, but only a little. "I'm Kali," she says and holds her hand out for him to shake, which he does. Vigorously. "And I think we owe it to all the asexuals who never get to go on dates to go out. And we definitely owe it to ourselves. What do you say?"

Dustin is speechless until Steve elbows him in the ribs and even then he only manages to squeak out a breathy, "Yes!" 

Steve hands over the box of cupcakes and tells Kali she can pick Dustin up tomorrow at eight and gives her his address. She agrees, takes the cupcakes, and leaves. 

Dustin looks like he just might pass out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got away from me a little bit so the other part of this prompt (#11) will be a separate chapter! 
> 
> The type of cupcakes for this chapter are vanilla. Dustin is so a vanilla cupcake. 
> 
> So here is a recipe for [ vanilla cupcakes.](https://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/food-network-kitchen/go-to-vanilla-cupcakes-3338835) But also [champage cupcakes.](https://www.allrecipes.com/recipe/220885/champagne-cupcakes/) And [grape cupcakes.](https://www.mastercook.com/app/recipe/WebRecipeDetails?recipeId=2185169) And [salted caramel cupcakes.](https://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/salted-caramel-cupcake-recipe-2125165) And [bubblegum cupcakes.](https://www.sbs.com.au/food/recipes/bubblepop-electric-cupcakes)


	14. To boldly go where no blueberry has gone before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this one is:
> 
> 10\. "I'm dying. The snot is flooding my brain and I'm dying. Tell my mother I never loved her."
> 
> and I picked it myself!

**~** **~**

"I'm dying. The snot is flooding my brain and I'm dying. Tell my mother I never loved her," Dustin says as he flops back dramatically onto the couch. 

They've been dating for three weeks. Three weeks and somehow, Kali has found herself sitting in Dustin's living room, surrounded by mountains of wadded up used kleenexes and a little, plastic garbage can the contents of which she'd really rather not think about. 

Another thing she'd really rather not think about? 

The way the garbage can has cartoon versions of Tony Stark's face all over it. And Tony Stark's face all over what's inside the bucket. 

"Unnnghhh," Dustin whines. 

Kali waits, but there's nothing else, no questions, no requests, just a wordless grunt of misery poured out into the universe, probably in an attempt at gaining sympathy. She reaches out and pats his shoulder awkwardly, only just barely holding off from uttering a probably patronizing, "There, there." 

Dustin sniffles pathetically and she finds herself at a loss for what to do. Patting his shoulder is probably _not_ going to be helpful a second time, if it was even helpful the first time. Which it probably wasn't. She winds up glancing nervously around the room and when her eyes land on her laptop, she gets an idea. "We could… watch something?" she offers, sounding just as pathetic to her own ears as Dustin's grunting had been. She is so out of her element with this nursemaid crap. 

"Sure, put on whatever you want," Dustin mumbles, then sniffles again. He's so sweaty his skin is actually shining in the low afternoon light and his hair is all matted and flat not just on one side, but on all sides. He has perpetually, for about the past hour, looked about five seconds away from puking his guts out. To say he looks completely and utterly pitiful would be putting it nicely.

And normally, this sort of thing would have her running for the door but Dustin. Dustin's different. He's sweet and he's smart and he's passionate. And not just passionate, but passionate about the same things as her. And, just like her, he finds sex repulsive so they just get to do all of the actual fun parts of dating: going out on dates, being romantic, kissing and holding hands, without worrying that at some point that'll stop being enough. He makes her feel like she's enough. And she knows she does the same for him. 

And then, on top of all of that, like the cherry on the cake (or the cupcake, just to be cute) is that he loves arguing just as much as she does. They spent their third date arguing about which is better, _The Orville_ or _Star Trek: Discovery,_ and at no point did either of them quit and leave in a huff, at no point did either of them make the argument personal or start throwing in anything that was particularly cruel. They both got loud, sure, they both got passionate, definitely, but neither of them ever got mean, not really. 

So it's been pretty great. It's been _really_ great. Better than she would have thought to ask for, honestly. 

Well… except for this part just right now…

Still, she grabs her laptop and puts on her favorite episode of _Star Trek: The Next Generation_ on Netflix and she sits next to him until halfway through the episode he starts shivering and she runs to grab him a sweater. 

He mumbles something she thinks might be, "Best girlfriend ever," as he's shoving it over his head, but she doesn't ask him to repeat himself.

She already knows she is. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The cupcakes for this chapter are (blueberry) Star Trek cupcakes. Here is a recipe for [Star Trek cupcakes.](https://youtu.be/EkEpAabh6CA)


	15. Sweet cherry pie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompts for this chapter are this one that I picked myself:
> 
> 36\. "Why did you think that was a good idea?"
> 
> And:
> 
> 41\. "How did you even manage that? Like seriously, I wanna know. That kinda fuck up should be studied."
> 
> from coffeeandchemicals on tumblr.
> 
> Also content warning for this chapter for stuff to do with Neil.

**~** **~**

Billy's been dreading today for about a week now. He low-key dreads today almost all year round. 

Today is the anniversary of the death of the abusive bastard that had the nerve to call himself his father.

Today is the day, six years ago, that Neil, drunk off his ass, rammed his car into a tree and ended everything.

Today is the day, and it's every year and it's pretty much only ever on this day, that Susan calls him. She calls him and she asks him if he's going to send flowers, if he's going to come visit, like finally, this year, after so many years apart, so many years away, this year is the year he'll throw his self-worth to the curb and finally do as she asks, finally come and give his father the respect she is adamant he deserves. And every year Billy's response to these questions is the same. Every year he tells her that if he did come visit, it'd only be to piss on Neil's grave. If he did send flowers, they'd be dead and rotting and nasty. And he's not that much of an asshole. Not anymore, anyway.

And then, every year, Susan asks Max the same questions and most years Max tells her mother, in no uncertain terms, to fuck right off. Max and Susan don't exactly have a close relationship these days, they haven't since Max graduated high school, moved out, and realized that Susan never did a thing to protect either one of them from Neil and as they were kids and Susan was an adult, she should have. That was her job, that was her responsibility as an adult, and more than that it was her responsibility as a parent. It's a job she failed at miserably and what's worse, she never apologized for that failure. For her inability to act. Instead, she's spent this whole time doubling down on her mistakes and making a home of her inability to act, her inability to even see that wrong, that harm was being done. So her and Max don't have much of a relationship these days. They don't call each other much and they see each other even less and every year, on this day, when Susan calls asking for attention and flowers and sympathy, Max tells her to fuck right off. 

Or at least she did. Every year but this year.

This year she sent flowers.

Nice ones. Pretty pink and purple and blue ones. And Billy knows this because he heard her on the phone with Susan. She hadn't even tried to keep it a secret. She'd just let the information be out and in the open, like it didn't even matter. Like it wasn't even a big deal.

Billy doesn't know how he feels about that. About any of it. He's not as angry as he would have been a couple years ago, but he's not okay with it, either. 

And he knows he should probably talk to Max about it rather than let it stew and fester, but he doesn't know what to say. Or rather, what would be _useful_ to say. 

Because he wants to be mean about it. He wants to curse at her for it, wants to say something like, "Why did you think that was a good idea?"

Or, "What the fuck did you do that for?" 

Or, "Were you trying to hurt me? Did I do something to piss you off in some way?" even though he knows it's probably not about him. He knows she had her own relationship with Neil and she has her own relationship with her mother and that not everything to do with either Susan or Neil is about him. 

He knows.

But still. It _feels_ personal. It _feels_ dirty and it _feels_ wrong. And mean. It feels mean as hell. Cruel, maybe even. 

Which is why, when Max is home for lunch, he can't help that the first thing he says to her is, _"_ How did you even manage that? Like seriously, I wanna know. That kinda fuck up should be studied."

In response to this, she pauses and takes a deep breath before she turns to him, licks the peanut butter off the knife she's been using to make herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and says, "Billy, what the fuck?"

Which, honestly, makes sense. He had sorta just spit out words at her like they were in the middle of a conversation. And he's been _having_ a long, drawn-out conversation with her in his head all morning, but out loud he's barely spoken a word to her or at all since he overheard her say that she sent flowers to Neil's grave, so he gets, after having unconsciously spit that out, that what he said made absolutely no sense whatsoever.

"I mean," he says, working not to clench his hands into fists, "why'd you do it?" 

She licks the knife again and says nothing for long enough that he isn't sure if it's because she's thinking or because she doesn't know what to say, or both. 

Eventually, she puts the knife down and turns back towards the counter, looking up until her eyes make contact with the frosted glass of the cupboard doors, then shifting away. "I guess I did it because I felt bad," she says and her voice comes out small and hollow. It makes him… he isn't sure what it makes him but it makes something ugly in him twist until it _hurts._

"Well, it certainly wasn't bad for _me,"_ he spits out. And he knows it's the wrong thing to say, he _knows_ it is, but he can't help himself, it's like his mouth is being controlled by something other than his brain and he can't _help himself._

She grips the counter and pointedly still _does not_ look at him. "No. I felt bad for _Susan._ Because not everything is about _you_ every minute of the day." 

And Billy doesn't know what to say to that. He knew before he said it that it wasn't about him, but still, he can't help it. Still, it _hurts._ Even now. But he doesn't know how to _say_ that so he just lets her walk past him, her hands white-knuckled in her grip on the plate holding her sandwich. He listens to her close her bedroom door and he doesn't go to knock, doesn't go to say anything, he just stands there in the doorway of the kitchen. Stewing in his anger like he knows he isn't supposed to, but also that he has no idea how to stop, either.

The rest of the day doesn't go any better. Steve comes over and he notices almost right away that Billy is tense, that he's boiling in his skin, and Steve, as always, is sweet and kind and soft about it. 

And Billy, being Billy, he picks a fight. 

They yell at each other, circling around and around and around the real issue before finally, just as it looks like Steve's about to walk away, Billy says abruptly, "My father died today. I'm sorry. I'm an ass." 

Steve's eyes go wide as the rest of his face seems to scrunch up, seems to shrink as he says, "What? Today? What happened? Are you—Are you—No, of course you're not okay, but you've never really talked about your family before now, so…" He's radiating about six different kinds of confusion. He's so confused he even starts pacing, though he's careful to avoid the various piles of clothes on the floor as he does so, because even confused, he's considerate.

And at this, at all of this, Billy lets out a long, slow breath. He starts to feel his face grow warm with his embarrassment at having misspoken. He sinks down onto the edge of his bed and he wants to crawl under his big, green duvet and hide but he settles instead for hiding his face in his hands. "No, not _today_ today… It… it was six years ago. I…" He sighs and pretends not to notice the bed dip as Steve sits down next to him, pretends not to notice the heat of Steve's body, so close and yet not touching, so close and yet still giving Billy his space. 

He pretends not to notice… not to notice… anything. Everything. He even pretends, for a moment, not to notice himself, pretends that he doesn't exist, that he doesn't exist at all.

So it takes him a while to speak up again and he can't help _but_ notice that Steve has just been waiting, has just been silent, been quiet, been still. Been _patient_ this whole time. 

"He was a drunk and a bastard and he…" Billy takes another breath. It's not that it hurts to talk about, exactly, his memories of Neil have long since gone cold and it's a rare day anymore when they manage to warm up enough to hurt him. But it's still hard to talk about. It's still something he rarely mentions to anyone. Not for himself, not for how it makes _him_ feel, but for others, for how it makes _them_ feel. For the way people tend to either cry at him and make him feel like he has to comfort them over _his_ trauma, _his_ tragedy, or the way they brush it off and ignore it or… or… worst of all, how once they know, people tend to shy away from him, tend to get quiet around him. The way they, over time, tend to talk to him less and less about what's going on in their lives, about what's troubling them because they "didn't want to burden him" or because his problems, his trauma was so much worse than anything they've seen or gone through, they don't feel right about complaining over what was basically nothing without realizing that what they were really doing was cutting him off from their lives.

And he doesn't want that to happen with Steve. It's why he's never mentioned any of this, even all these months later. He doesn't want anything to change. He doesn't want Steve to ignore him or to cry at him or to pity him. Not Steve. Not ever Steve. 

But. But he knows this continuing silence won't end unless he talks about it. He knows Steve won't let him change the subject, even if he wants to, even if he tries to. And he knows he shouldn't, even if he wants to. He knows he needs to say this. He knows Steve deserves to hear it.

"He was abusive and he used to beat the shit out of me," he says blunt as a brick to the face.

And the second he says this, he feels Steve go tense beside him. "Fuck, Billy," he says. "I'm so sorry." 

Billy looks up to see this look of rage sprouting on Steve's face. "My parents were bastards too—they never hit me—but I know from experience how much that shit hurts. Abuse, I mean. And fuck, Billy, you know you didn't deserve it, right?" Steve says, nervous like he isn't sure Billy doesn't. 

Billy knows it's weird, but he can't help it, this makes him smile. He should have known Steve would be good with this, too. That Steve would understand. So he takes Steve's hand in his and leans into his body almost heavily enough to knock him over. "I've had enough therapy to learn that, yeah," he says.

Steve picks up their clasped hands and presses the gentlest of kisses to the back of Billy's. "Good," he says. "Because you didn't."

They sit in silence, leaning on each other for a bit, just enjoying each other's presence before Steve speaks up again. "So is today just always a bad day for you, then? Should I mark it on my calendar for next year?"

Internally, at the words "next year" the little gay kid in Billy that never thought he'd ever be happy, ever be loved, does a backflip. "It is and you should, but today was worse."

Steve pauses, waits for Billy to continue, but when Billy doesn't, he shoves into him a little and asks, "Why?"

"Because every year Susan—Max's mom and my ex-step-mom—asks me if I'm sending flowers or coming home to visit and every year I tell her to fuck off." Billy pauses. "And every year Max usually tells her the same thing. Every year except this year."

Steve wraps an arm around Billy's shoulder and squeezes him in close. "And you felt a little bit betrayed by this?" 

The word "Yes!" comes rocketing out of Billy's mouth before it occurs to him to speak because yes, that's exactly it! Betrayed. Betrayed is entirely how he feels. Why couldn't Max get that? 

Why couldn't he?

Steve presses into him again and says, "It's okay. I get it." He separates their hands and starts carding his fingers through Billy's hair and it makes every muscle in every part of Billy's body go loose. 

"But are you gonna talk to her about it?" Steve asks after a couple minutes have gone by in careful, easy silence. "'Cause you know that you should talk to her about it, right?"

In response, Billy grunts and Steve's fingers go still in his hair. 

"Fine," Billy says. "Tomorrow. I'll talk to her about it tomorrow."

Steve's fingers start moving again. 

It takes Billy a few more minutes to gather up the courage to say, "Your parents were shitty, too?" 

Behind him, he feels Steve nod.

"Yeah," Steve says, his fingers still moving, but slower now. "They were never around." He takes a deep breath and Billy waits, lets him collect himself. "And I didn't even realize how bad that was, how fucked up, until I moved out of their house, until I started living with Dustin. He's just like always around, you know?" Steve's fingers slide down through Billy's hair until they reach his neck, then start trailing to his collarbone and Billy stretches himself out, lies down a little to give Steve's fingers more space to move.

Steve clears his throat and begins again. "He's always there and he's always supporting me and…" He clears his throat a second time and Billy starts to worry that maybe he should turn around, that maybe Steve's about to cry. "And I didn't notice until I had that… I never noticed that my parents never _did_ that. All through high school all anybody ever said was how cool it was that they were never around so I just… sorta thought it was cool, too. It didn't matter how lonely I was. People told me it was cool and I believed them." 

Steve stops both talking and trailing his fingers up and down Billy's collarbone and this is when Billy makes his move. He sits up and he turns around so he's facing Steve. He pushes him back onto the bed then leans over him so he's bracketing him with his body. 

"And you know you didn't deserve it, right?" Billy says.

Underneath him, Steve smiles. "Yeah. Dustin and Robin made sure of that," he says. 

"Good," Billy says, parroting Steve's words from earlier. "Because you didn't." He bends his head down to kiss Steve soundly before gradually collapsing to lie down on top of him. 

"I know," Steve says, his fingers carding through Billy's hair again. 

Billy doesn't think he's ever been this happy, this at ease, this at peace, not with anyone, not ever and especially not on a day like today.

"I love you," Billy says, soft and quiet. 

"I know," Steve says, bright as anything.

Billy reaches up and punches him in the arm. It's awkward with their current positioning, but somehow he manages. "Dick!" he grouses.

"Hmmm…." Steve says, making a thoughtful noise. "Nah! Not interested in that."

They both devolve into laughter after that.

They spend the rest of the night touching and kissing and talking about the people that should've been their parents but that didn't wind up earning that title. It's the best Billy can recall ever feeling on this day and he's glad he has Steve to spend it with, both now and in the future. 

The next morning, however… the next morning does not go nearly as well.

It's after Steve has left for work and just as Billy is lacing up his boots to leave as well that Max comes out of her room. She looks… he's not naive enough to think she looks recalcitrant. Or dumb enough to think she feels bad.

But he's proven wrong the second that she speaks. "I…" she says, twisting a long lock of her bright red hair around her fingers. "I felt bad for Susan because she doesn't have anything. Or anyone. She calls me maybe four or five times a year and she never has anything to say. All she has is that grave and the memory of a man she pretends is better than he ever really was." She walks into the kitchen and it's like she knows Billy will follow her. 

And he does. 

As she grabs a bowl for her cereal, she keeps talking. "And she used to be a person, you know? She used to be a person with dreams and with goals and with interests. She had ambitions. Now all she has is that grave." She grabs a box of cereal seemingly at random and pours some of it into her bowl. "And it's just so fucking sad, you know?" 

She walks over to the fridge, yanks the door open like she's mad at it, and grabs the almond milk roughly enough that if the lid weren't on tightly, it'd spill. "We have all this stuff going on. I have Lucas. You have Steve. We have our friends. I'm killing it at school. You're a motherfucking firefighter! That's pretty badass, you know?"

She sloshes the milk into her bowl. Some of it spills over onto the counter. "We have all this stuff going on! We're really cool people! And all she fucking cares about is some stupid fucking rock!" She yanks open the cutlery drawer hard enough to make the cutlery clatter in their tiny plastic trays and this is when Billy makes his move, surging forward and wrapping her up in a big bear hug from behind. 

"What the hell?" she screams like she's been accosted rather than being hugged. Hugging isn't something that they do, they never have, but even beyond that Max is not and has never been exactly touchy-feely. Even with Lucas, she's kind of hands-off. 

But Billy knows she needs this now anyway. He drags her a step back from the counter and her disastrously drenched cereal and he holds her tight. "It's okay," he says. 

"How?" she bites back. "How is this okay?" She squirms in his hold until she's turned around and facing him. "How is any of this okay?"

She's glaring up at him, all 5"2 of her and she's got this look of fury in her eyes that usually means steer clear but that today Billy knows means don't let go. 

"We're okay," Billy says.

"No, we're not!" Max says. "I'm not!" Billy knows that if he wasn't hugging her and thereby holding her arms down, she'd be shoving him right now. She twitches like she wants to, anyway. 

"I'm not!" she shouts. "I'm not okay! I want my mom back and I am not okay!"

"I know," Billy says and still, he does not let go. With one arm he holds her closer and with the other, he starts stroking her hair. "And that's okay," he says. 

And this, this is what finally does it, what finally breaks her. Max cries. 

Max. Cries. 

Max never cries. _Ever._

But she's crying now. 

So Billy does the only thing he can think of and walks her to the couch, sits her down, and lets her cry as he holds her and strokes her hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: The cupcakes for this chapter are cherry pie cupcakes. Here is a recipe for [cherry pie cupcakes.](https://www.bettycrocker.com/recipes/cherry-filled-cupcakes/058965dc-5c60-41ad-b081-a995f54ceb88)


	16. Berry stories to tell in the nut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this chapter is:
> 
> 11\. "Fuck the avocadoes! We're leaving!" 
> 
> from harringrovetrashh. 
> 
> I did this prompt in another chapter already but since it was combined with 13 and 14 and I couldn't fit those in the other chapter with this prompt already in it (ch. 8) so I'm putting it in a separate chapter here and basically just referencing that. 
> 
> Also, warning, this chapter gets SAD.

**~** **~**

One night, Steve is out at this tiny, little, hole-in-the-wall but oddly upscale pub a few blocks from the bakery with Billy, Nancy and Jonathan. The place has these dark red walls, deep, maroon velvet-lined booths, and waiters wearing fancy all-black suits and ties.

It sort of makes Steve a little uncomfortable, makes him feel a little out of place with his flour-coated jeans and his old, beat up corduroy jacket, but Nancy seems to love it and the drinks are cheap, so they stay. 

They're about four drinks and two plates of very fancy nachos in when Steve starts telling them the story of how Dustin met his girlfriend, Kali. He goes into extravagant detail on just how awkward Dustin was about the whole thing and how hard he had to work just to get him a date. 

Nancy and Jonathan both laugh at the story but Billy gives him this funny, one eyebrow raised, _oh, really?_ kind of look. Then he says, "Like _you've_ never been weird." 

"W-well, I… I never said I wasn't," Steve says less than gracefully; he would have _loved_ to have sounded cool and unaffected, but he knows he missed that mark so bad it's three towns over, sleeping soundly, completely and utterly unaware of his existence entirely. It might as well be in the next state, hell, it might as well be in a whole other _country,_ for how badly he's missed it. 

So with this in mind, because of this, really, Billy, of course, keeps going.

"First day we met, you were _so_ awkward," Billy says, tone teasing but eyes bright like he's decided to dig in, and Steve means _really_ dig in, like full stop.

"Sounds about right," Nancy says knowingly. 

Steve is stunned into silence. 

Nancy laughs and reaches a hand across the table to put her hand over Steve's. "After high school, once you stopped with all that cool kid King Steve bullshit, you became the loveable, awkward dork you were always meant to be." She pauses and almost winks at him. Almost, but not quite. "I like you much better this way."

Billy laughs. "Wait. Excuse me, _what?_ Did people _actually_ call you that?"

Steve can feel his face getting embarrassingly warm. "They… ummm… they might have." 

This time Jonathan speaks up. "Oh, they _totally_ did. They called him 'King Steve' and Steve 'The Hair' Harrington—"

"Now that one I can believe," Billy interjects. 

"He was the most popular kid in school because of his hair and the fact that his parents were never home," Nancy says, continuing on for Jonathan like he'd never even stopped, like they just share one brain now after all this time together, like she just knows exactly what he's going to say anyway. 

But underneath the table, Billy's knee knocks gently into Steve's and Steve knows without Billy having to say it in words that Billy gets how much it sucks that his parents were never around. He knows that Billy understands the kind of scars that leaves behind. He wishes Billy didn't, he wishes he were alone in this, that the scars he's got in all his dark and quiet, broken places weren't perfectly matched in all of Billy's dark and quiet, broken places, but… they are. And it's sweet, what Billy is doing right now. 

Billy isn't that sweet for long, though; in the next instant he's right back to it, giving Nancy this dagger-sharp grin and saying, "He 'was', huh?" He even licks his lips expertly, readying himself for the next juicy tidbit of gossip he thinks he's about to uncover.

Steve, _unfortunately,_ knows better. Steve, _unfortunately,_ knows that what Billy's about to uncover is more trap than treat.

And he's powerless to stop him.

"What changed?" 

It's like watching a car accident a split-second before it even happens. Steve's insides brace for impact as Nancy's face twists like she's been hit, her lips turning down at the corners and her eyebrows pulling together. Steve can _feel_ the way Jonathan's hands reach out and grab at his knees from across the table, can sense the way his whole body goes tense just by looking at him and the way his shoulders _twitch._

Or, in a word, it's _bad._

Nancy, without saying anything, looks away and takes a long, _slow_ sip of her wine. 

Jonathan, rather bravely in Steve's opinion, clears his throat and picks up the thread of the conversation. "He started dating Nancy."

Billy's eyes go wide. _"What?"_ He waves wildly between Nancy and then Steve. "You two?" He looks caught between laughing and choking before settling on just straight up gawking. _"How?"_

Steve shrugs and looks over at Nancy. She refuses to look at him, instead deciding to look down at her hand that's still covering his.

She doesn't move it.

"I dunno," Steve says. He puts his other hand on top of hers. "There was just something about her." 

The tension breaks as Nancy smiles at this and it's shy at first but as she starts to lift her head, it grows into something bright, something _warm._ "He was sweet. Even though he pretended to be this cool jock, I knew he was a good person. A good man."

Billy just looks confused. "So…" he starts but trails off and Steve can tell he's trying to find a nice way to ask why they ever broke up if they loved each other so much.

Rather than wait out another live and in person car crash though, Steve decides to just answer Billy's unasked question and skip that part. "We broke up for a couple of reasons," he says and as he does so, he takes his hand off of Nancy's, but he keeps his eyes on her.

She continues the story, picking it up like they're weaving a freaking friendship bracelet or something. "First," she says, her voice still cracking, even after all this time, "my best friend Barb died. She, uh—" The crack becomes a break and her hand slinks off of Steve's to rest with Jonathan's on the other side of the table, where it belongs. 

"Drowned," Steve says. "In my pool. At a party."

Next to him Billy goes tense and Steve's not a mind reader but he knows exactly what Billy is thinking. He's thinking, _Shit, I should never have asked._ He's thinking, _Shit, this is my fault._ Billy breathes out once and it leaves Steve with this ice-cold feeling, this worry over what Billy's about to do, but then, surprisingly, maybe even to Billy himself, Billy melts. He wraps an arm around Steve's shoulder and draws him close, switches from ice to fire in an instant and starts pouring warmth into Steve just by gently touching him. 

Steve still feels cold, feels, sees, _smells_ cold and imagines chlorine and bright, neon blue water but he stays quiet, letting someone else pick up the story. 

Nancy carries it on. "We…" She bites her lip and the hand holding the stem of her wine glass tightens until it's gripping hard enough Steve thinks he's about to hear the glass start _cracking._ "We were distracted. We weren't paying attention. She hadn't even been drinking, she just slipped and hit her head and fell in and…" Her hand drops from the glass and she shrinks in on herself. Jonathan wraps around her without even consciously seeming to decide to do so, it's just an instinct buried somewhere at the core of him to be protective and kind. And especially over Nancy, especially now.

And Billy, Billy's just as protective but he's ten times more wary. Billy's whole body goes tight again, goes rigid and under the table, next to Steve's thigh, Billy's hand clenches into a fist like he's just waiting for something to fight, for a monster to appear out of the table roaring and screaming with its long, sharp claws brandished and teeth gnashing viciously. Or like he's expecting a man with a shotgun to come barreling in through the front door and demanding everybody get down and make real good friends with the floor and they better do it _real_ _quick._

It's like he _needs_ something, or _someone,_ to fight. Like he's useless in this situation as it is. 

"So how did… when did… I mean, how did that lead to..." Billy stammers. His face is carefully blank or at least it's trying to be, but Steve can see the confusion and the panic peeling at the edges. He knows Billy too well not to, at this point.

Not that he's about to mention it, of course. Billy hates getting accused of having emotions in public, even if that 'public' is only a small bar filled with two other _very_ drunk patrons, a waiter clearing off tables so quickly it's like she thinks it's an olympic sport and a bored-looking bartender who seems much more invested in whatever's happening on her phone's screen than in anything that's happening in person in the bar. 

"Well, we didn't exactly… _handle it_ _well_ as a couple," Steve says, which is the kindest understatement he thinks may have ever been spoken in the English language. Maybe in _any_ language. 

"And I was kind of in love with someone else…" Nancy says. 

"Yeah," Steve says. He feels frozen in time, feels glued to his seat, until he looks up and sees the way Nancy is staring at Jonathan and the way Jonathan is staring back at her, like they're the only two people who exist for each other in theentire universe and he feels himself settle back down into his bones. He can't be upset when they look at each other like that, he just can't. 

He can admit, however, he is big enough to admit, that _sometimes_ it still stings a little, what happened between them, no matter how old the hurt might be. He is _big enough_ to admit that there have been a few times, on his worst days, when Nancy's voice in his head chimes in with his father's and he hears her calling him 'bullshit'. He hears her asking him, begging him, pleading with him to just tell her why she wasn't good enough, why after sex with her just _one time,_ he lost all interest. He didn't have a word for it then, didn't know what 'asexual' meant then. And he didn't know how to be honest then, either. With her or with himself.

But _sometimes_ he's still just a little mad about it, internally (and only ever just _internally)_ but then he sees them looking at each other like _that_ and he can't be mad. He sees them looking at each other like _that_ and he knows that everything the three of them went through together after Barb died was worth it. Because he's not really ever been mad at her, anyway, but at himself. For not having the right words. For not being honest. For not _knowing._

But he knows _now._ He's honest _now._ And she has Jonathan. And he has Billy. 

So he unclenches, a little. 

And then a lot. 

At his side, Billy's fist loosens up until it's just his hand and his hand starts stroking a long, soothing line along the seam of Steve's jeans like he can burn into Steve's skin _through_ the fabric and Steve leans into the touch, pretends he can feel Billy's strong, sure fingers against his skin and he feels himself _breathe,_ well and truly breathe properly for the first time in a _while._

He leans into Billy with his whole entire body and allows himself a moment to just enjoy it—Billy's warmth and the sure certainty he brings to every moment he's not looking for something to fight—before tuning back in to some conversation that seems to have progressed without him to hear Nancy saying, "I will never doubt again," in this soft and dream-like way that sounds like she's quoting something Steve is sure he's heard at least a hundred times before and yet is still having trouble placing. 

Jonathan clearly knows _exactly_ what it's from, though because on hearing it he smiles at her, his expression just as soft, just as dream-like, and he says, "There will never be a need," like this is some commonly repeated joke the two of them share. 

And who knows, maybe it is? It's not like Steve knows their every private moment, their every private joke. 

Billy, however, snorts. "Really? _The Princess Bride?_ You guys were watching _The Princess Bride_ when you first said 'I love you' to each other?"

Nancy scowls at this but she's still all wrapped up in Jonathan so the look goes nowhere fast. "And what's wrong with _The Princess Bride,_ huh?"

"Nothing," Billy says with this smile Steve just _knows_ means _trouble._ "It's just a much nicer story than ours and I'm jealous, that's all." 

And Steve knows he's not going to be able to stop Billy from telling it, either, so he doesn't even bother. Doesn't even say a word. 

"The first time we said 'I love you' to each other was after a fight in a grocery store that started with Steve throwing—" Billy stops short to giggle like a freaking five-year-old. "That started with Steve throwing down an avocado and shouting"—again, more giggling— "'Fuck the avocadoes! We're leaving!'"

This time it's Nancy's eyes that go wide and Jonathan that says, "Wait. _What?"_

And then Steve and Billy have to explain _that_ story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The type of cupcakes for this chapter are blackberry coconut. Here is a recipe for [blackberry coconut cupcakes.](https://www.scrumdiddlyumptious.com/blackberry-coconut-cupcakes/)
> 
> And there's only one chapter left! I can't believe it!


	17. Roses are for romance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompts for this chapter (the last chapter!) are:
> 
> "1 & 3 for the ace prompts?"
> 
> 1\. "I didn't know if I could trust you." 
> 
> 3\. "Why is there a giant, fluffy unicorn plush on my bed?"
> 
> from anonymous
> 
> +
> 
> 65\. "When I sang I wanna hold your hand at you, I meant it literally." (because let's be real, some singing is needed at this time xD)
> 
> from artzeppo

**~** **~**

Somebody in the latest so-bad-you'd-never-recognize-a-single-actor-in-it action movie El has demanded they watch says, "I didn't know if I could trust you," and El snorts as she grabs a fat handful of M&M's. She stuffs them in her mouth recklessly, several of them falling to the floor or worse, into the cracks of the couch, not that she notices. 

She also doesn't notice Mike watching her as she does this and he feels something inside himself catch almost as if on a ledge, feels something clink and clatter and slip-slide its way down to somewhere around the base of his spine and he shivers.

He loves El. So much. 

Like so, so, _so_ much he doesn't even have words for it. 

And he knows she hasn't told him everything. They've known each other for years, worked side-by-side for years, they've been dating for _a year,_ and still, she's told him precious little about herself and why she's said so little about herself is just as big a mystery as almost everything else about her is.

But still. He loves her.

And he hopes someday she'll trust him enough to tell him her story. 

But for now, this is enough, loving her is enough, sitting in a dark room, her wrapping her arm around his shoulder, her face moving up close to his, her breath smelling of chocolate and her kissing his cheek… it's enough.

She doesn't say anything after she kisses him, doesn't even really look at him, just leaves his cheek feeling a little warm and almost but not quite sticky and he knows. 

He knows she loves him too, even if she doesn't say it out loud, even if she doesn't ever put it into words. He knows. 

And that's enough.

//

"Why is there a giant, fluffy unicorn plush on my bed?" Max says a split-second before getting hit square in the face with deja-vú so bad she would almost swear she could hear the crack of the baseball bat used to do it. That was the _exact_ same thing Billy had said when this _exact_ same thing had happened to him almost a year ago.

And the unicorn Max has stumbled into her room to find is the _exact_ same size as the one on Billy's bed, too, though where his is bright white with a pink mane and a sparkling silver horn, this one is pure black with a silver mane and a soft white horn. 

Behind her, Lucas snorts. 

"Because," he says as he wraps his arms around her waist and plants his chin on her shoulder. "You're always staring at the one Steve bought for Billy so I figured I'd get you one and stop all of your ridiculous longing." 

She smacks him on the arm, making him loosen his hold. "I do _not_ stare _longingly_ at _Franchesca!"_

Again, Lucas snorts, but this one blooms into a laugh so strong, so full-bodied that it takes him a second before he gets to saying, "Considering you named it Franchesca, I'm thinking that you do."

Max spins to face him and then takes a step back. "And who says _I_ was the one who named her?" 

Lucas bites down on his lip, fights back another laugh, and says, "Really? You're gonna tell me that big, scary Billy Hargrove named his stuffed unicorn that he only keeps 'cause his boyfriend gave it to him, Franchesca? Really? That's your final answer? Are you _sure?"_

Max lets out a sigh. "Okay," she says. She knows she's caught. "So maybe I did." 

Lucas nods, still biting his lower lip to keep from laughing. He manages to hold onto this for a whole two seconds before some up to this point hidden softness manages to sneak its way into his expression, painting his whole face in a different light. "And what are you gonna name this one?" he asks, voice all mushy and soft at the center, like he regularly pretends he isn't.

Max spins on her heel to look at it. "I think I'll name it after you," she says, grinning. "I'll call it meathead." 

//

"But. You're. Wrong," Kali says, her voice clipped and harsh, making each word sound like a bullet, like a punch, like a… really dramatic third thing Dustin is having a really hard time coming up with right now because that's just how mad at her he is. 

"No, _you're_ wrong, and the fact that you can't see that is _infuriating!"_

Dustin rams his key into the lock for the front door of his and Steve's apartment like _it's_ the one he's mad at and unsurprisingly it refuses to open for him. No matter how hard he yanks or grunts or pulls or _pleads,_ the key refuses to work like it's _supposed to_ and just _open the damn door._

So Kali steals the keys, hands snaking out and around his before he can even think to interject and she gently, _gently_ twists the key in the lock and, the lock, _traitorous bastard,_ opens for her.

"I'm telling you," she insists as she brushes past him to lean up against the outer wall of the kitchen like she owns the place. "You're wrong." She doesn't even stare him down as she does this, that's how unassailably confident she is.

It makes Dustin grunt deep in the back of his throat. "Based on _what?_ You don't even have an argument!"

He's fired up and ready to go but as usual, Kali's ice cold and she appears completely unconcerned. When she picks herself up off the wall, slow and careful and measured, he almost thinks she's about to give in, almost, except for the way she's got her shoulders pushed back. It's a small movement, but coming from her, she almost might as well be brandishing a weapon. "Okay, but you have like, _one point_ to _your_ argument," she says. 

"I only need the one!" 

"I disagree. One point is not enough to ruin the whole thing." 

Dustin feels like he's going to pull his hair out. He almost does but instead, he redirects at the last second and wraps his hands around the outer edges of his jeans pockets and _grips. Hard._

"It is when that point is that they killed Leia for no reason!" 

Kali, as she always does, surprises him and cracks a smile before rushing forward and kissing him senseless. 

He breaks the kiss just a second before he would have passed out from lack of oxygen. "Don't think that's you winning the argument," he says, panting like a marathon runner. (Or like the very out of shape nerd boy that he is.) 

She charges in for another kiss but she keeps breaking it by laughing and he'd say it ruins the kiss, but it doesn't because nothing could ruin a kiss with her. Nothing. 

After a minute of the two of them laughing then kissing then laughing some more, she says, "I love you." 

He says, "I know," before he can even think through what he's doing (or all of the reasons saying that might be a truly _terrible_ idea) but luckily for him, it just makes her laugh harder.

//

It's late. Like, stupidly late. Or at least it is for Robin, considering she has to be up at four a.m. tomorrow to get started baking. 

At least, it feels stupidly late. She went to bed what feels like hours ago, but she's just been lying here, tossing and turning and tossing and turning. No position she's tried has helped. Nothing she's done has helped.

She rolls over in bed, checks the time on her phone, and groans as all her fears are confirmed. It's 11 p.m. It is, indeed, stupidly late. 

And she's not even thinking about anything important, just that she needs to get up early, needs to meet the delivery guy at the back door by five, needs to get the ovens started by six, the first batch of cupcakes done by seven… No matter how many times she plans it all out, it doesn't help. Her brain just keeps cycling over and over and over with thoughts of, "You need to…" and, "Don't forget to…" and, "Oh, but also…" and this happens so many times over she could tell you what she needs to do tomorrow in her sleep. Or at least she would, if she could ever actually _get any._

She flips over onto her side.

She's never going to get any. Not tonight, at least.

She groans again even though what she wants to do is scream. Like just really loudly. Like shatter the windows loudly. Because why? Why can't she _just. Sleep?_

Some combination of her groaning, her tossing and her turning and her internal screaming wakes Heather and this, this is when she knows for sure, knows beyond a shadow of a doubt, knows for a fact, that she is absolutely, positively never, ever going to get any sleep tonight because from now until when she needs to get up in the morning the thing her brain is going to go over and over and _over_ isn't tomorrow's schedule but her guilt at having woken up her girlfriend.

"Robin…" Heather mumbles, voice all heavy and warm in a way that simultaneously makes Robin feel all soft and fuzzy inside and also deeply, deeply annoyed because _Heather_ never has problems sleeping. _Heather_ can fall asleep in five minutes flat. _Heather_ could fall asleep during an earthquake or at the base of the world's noisiest dam or at a military airfield base in the middle of their busiest day of the year. Because nothing bothers Heather. _Ever._

But then Heather pulls her close without even really looking, her arms just sort of reach out and find Robin on pure instinct and Robin can't help it, she melts a little at that. Heather starts running her fingers through Robin's hair and telling her it'll be alright, whatever it is and suddenly, tomorrow's schedule is the last thing on Robin's mind. 

She tries to apologize for waking her but Heather just kisses her quiet then tells her it's alright, this is what she's here for and she just holds her, calm and quiet, until finally, Robin's mind manages to wind down and shut off for the night. 

//

This is probably Nancy's favorite way to experience the world, to walk quietly down the street at night, holding hands with Jonathan and saying nothing, seeing no one. Watching the way the bright colors disappear from everything, the hush the world gets past a certain hour, when the only light is from the street lamps or maybe the moon if there aren't too many clouds in the sky. 

This is her favorite thing, just walking and feeling the warm, solid presence of Jonathan's hand in hers, knowing, after all this time, every crack and curve and line in his hand better than she knows her own. The way his hand fits perfectly in hers and not just the size of it, not just because they're a perfect fit physically speaking, not just because their hands seem to be made to fit together but because they've practiced it enough times for it to be second nature, almost instinct to get it _just right._ The way his fingers brush lightly against but do not grip tightly to her own, the way he trusts her to lead the way… 

She's never been a big believer in magic, but this, she thinks, might be as close as she'll ever come to any. This, the way their steps sync seamlessly without thought and without conscious effort; this, the way their bodies move as if two coordinated parts of the same whole; this, the way he smiles at her like he hasn't done it a thousand times already before and like he definitely plans on doing it thousands of times more. 

This is magic. This is everything. This is _perfect._

Most people probably wouldn't think she'd think so, not loud, brash, little Nancy Wheeler, the reporter with a thirst for knowledge, a desire for the truth, and a constant need to prove herself, to be better than her last story, to get ahead, to be the best, even if it's to be the best in an industry more dead at this point than it is alive.

But it is and she does. 

It's probably _why_ she loves this as much as she does, really. After all the grating loudness, the hustle, and the rush of the day, sometimes she needs this, needs to slow things down and just be in the quiet. 

Jonathan smiles at her as he asks, "Wanna head home yet?" 

Her own answering smile is just as slow, just as quiet as the sleepy residential street around them. "Just a few more blocks," she says. "I'm not quite there yet."

//

It's late and they're hungry so they're making grilled cheese sandwiches and "I wanna hold your hand" by The Beatles is playing and Steve is singing along tunelessly. 

_"Oh please, say to me, you'll let me be your man. And please, say to me_ , _yo_ _u'll let me hold your hand."_

He's really getting into it, using the spatula as a microphone and everything and Billy just can't help himself. In the middle of the next verse, he just surges forward and kisses Steve. It's a full-on, hands on his face, pressing him up against the counter and pressing into his space kinda kiss and it's meant to be romantic, but Steve, like a complete and total jackass, laughs into the kiss instead.

"Your sandwich'll burn," Steve says as he breaks the kiss. Not that he goes far, they're still close enough to be sharing the same air, close enough to be touching too much for it to be anything other than wholly distracting. 

Billy considers going in for another kiss but instead, Steve smiles wide and bright and leans back enough to look Billy in the eye before he says, "And besides, you know when I sang 'I wanna hold your hand' at you, I meant it literally, right? That wasn't me demanding that you kiss me."

Steve moves to back up further, moves to break Billy's hold but Billy doesn't let him, just holds him tight and stares him right in the eye as he says, "Move in with me. You practically live here anyway."

Steve again ruins Billy's intent for the moment by saying, "Oh, how romantic," and laughing. 

Billy just rolls his eyes and grips Steve tighter, his hands going to rest right around Steve's hips, making it impossible for him to move. "No really," he says, making his voice soft and quiet, trying to make Steve get he's being serious through his tone as well as his words. "Move in with me." 

The spatula in Steve's hand goes slack, the grilled cheese on the stove sizzles threateningly and Steve looks off in the direction of Max's room. "But…" he says. "But what about Max?" 

Billy clears his throat and squares his shoulders. He'll bust through this problem physically if he has to. "Yo, Max!" he calls out, loud as he can.

Her answering shout of, "What?" is just as loud, maybe louder and is near instantaneous.

"You okay with it if Steve moves in here?" Billy shouts. 

Max replies, "Sure! He practically lives here anyway!" and Billy thinks that's it, problem solved, but the way Steve goes tense in his arms says it isn't. So Billy tries something else. 

"Lucas?" he shouts.

"Yeah?" Lucas shouts back just as Steve makes a face and says, "That's not—"

Billy cuts him off, asking Lucas, "You okay with it?" 

"I don't even live here!" Lucas sounds annoyed enough Billy can picture the stink-eye look Lucas is probably giving him even though they're rooms apart. 

Billy just smiles and cracks back with, "Sure you don't!"

Causing Lucas to grunt and reply, "Fine, whatever!" 

Billy turns back to Steve. "See?" he says. "Everybody's good with it."

Steve gives him a look like he's mulling it over and Billy can't for the life of him understand why. He knows Steve wants to live here, to be with him like this every day. He just knows it. 

Doesn't he? 

The sandwich crackles and hisses in the pan, upping the ante on its earlier threat and Billy moves to turn the stove off, but doesn't bother to move the sandwich to a plate. He doesn't care if it soaks in too much oil or gets burnt on one side, so long as it's not about to explode into flames and set the rest of the kitchen on fire or fill the room with smoke, he doesn't care. 

"Or do you…" Billy asks, voice shaky even as the rest of him holds firm. "Do you…" He swallows. "Not want to live here? With… me?" He lets his hands drop from Steve's hips and he inches back just slightly. He can't quite make himself back away completely, can't quite make himself surrender the warmth of being this close to Steve, not if…

Not if…

If there's something about this he's been misreading? 

Is there something about this he's been misreading all this time?

This time, Steve is the one to pull him close. This time, Steve is the one to put his hands on Billy's hips and forcefully press their bodies together but still, verbally, he hesitates, leaving Billy with just enough space for his doubts to hang him. 

What if there's something Steve's not telling him? 

What if he's not in this the same way Billy is?

What if…?

"No, it's not that. Not at all. It's… Billy…" Steve says, finally. "Are you sure?" 

Billy's hands fly up but, having nowhere to go, almost immediately sink back down. "What is there to be _unsure_ about?" 

"Well, I mean…" Steve trails off and it makes Billy want to shake him. 

"I love you," Billy says. "And you love me, right?" He hates how anxious this is making him, how nervous. He hadn't put any thought into asking the first time, it had just seemed like the most natural course of action, like of course, they would. _Of course, they would._ It had never, _ever_ occurred to him that Steve might, that Steve might… not want to. 

Still, after a second or two where Billy could almost swear his heart had stopped completely dead in his chest, Steve nods. "Of course I do," he says, the words coming out as slow as if he's dragged them. "Of course I do, I just…" He trails off again and again Billy could swear he feels his heart go still. 

"I just. We have such a good thing going and I don't want to ruin it. I've never dated anybody for this long, never…" Steve seems to shrink in on himself with every single word and it makes Billy feel clumsy, like he's ten times too big for the room and for Steve even though they're almost entirely the same height.

Then when Steve says the next thing, says, "I've never loved anybody quite this much," something breaks apart in Billy just as something bright and shiny and new takes its place. 

"So marry me," he says, not thinking this through any more than he had asking Steve to move in with him, but knowing, even more than before, that this is what he wants. This is all he wants, all he's ever wanted, all he's ever _going_ to want. 

"But!" The word flies out of Steve's mouth and hits Billy hard enough he's surprised he doesn't come away bleeding. "But we were just talking about moving in together!" 

Billy wants to crumble, he does, he's terrified and honestly surprised he isn't shaking, but instead, he stands there, solid and sure and he smiles, outwardly, at least and he takes a step back, takes Steve's hands in his and he says, "I know, but then I realized something. I've never loved anyone more than I love you, either. And I'm never going to. Ever." He pauses, takes a long, deep breath, and pretends like that does anything to center or to calm him before carrying on. "So marry me. I can get a ring, I can do some fancy proposal, we can talk about it more, you don't have to answer me right away if you don't want to, I just… I just want you to know I want you to marry me." 

The length of time it takes for Steve to respond this time makes Billy feel like his heart could fully stop, he could go to the hospital, get that dealt with, come back and still be waiting on a reply. 

And then all Steve says is, "Okay." 

"Okay?" Billy asks. "Okay like you'll marry me or okay like you'll think about it?" 

Steve smiles and it's a bit thin but at this point, Billy'll take it. At this point, he'll take anything. "Okay like yes, l'll move in. Okay like yes, I'll marry you." Steve bites his lip and looks away, like some part of him still doesn't quite believe this is happening. "I would love to marry you." 

And suddenly, Billy feels like the whole world could explode and he wouldn't care. Because Steve just said he'll move in. Steve just said he'll marry him. There is nothing he could ever imagine topping this moment. 

Except for maybe the way it feels when Steve leans in and kisses him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The cupcakes for this chapter are rose petal cupcakes. Here is a recipe for [rose petal cupcakes.](https://www.womansday.com/food-recipes/food-drinks/recipes/a10661/rose-petal-cupcakes-122024/)
> 
> Also, can you tell that I have been quarantined and alone for much too long and am deeply filled with deep, deep longing? BECAUSE I HAVE AND I AM. 
> 
> But also! 
> 
> FINALLY, IT IS DONE! The prompt fic is done! :)
> 
> This project was so very, very outside of my wheel house (I am an angst monster and writing this much concentrated fluff and softness was a CHALLENGE) but I'm glad I stuck with it and finished it because I really, really love how it turned out.


	18. Extra chapter: the playlist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like putting playlists in an extra chapter at the end of a fic just in case the spotify playlist dies at some point or something. :)

**Upside Down Cupcakes playlist:**

_Until the Light - Lights_

_Warm Water - Banks_

_Worth the Fight - Broods_

_Something About Us - Broods_

_Everybody Here Wants You - Jeff Buckley_

_Kiss Of Life - Sade_

_Blinding Lights - the Weeknd_

_Hey Now - London Grammar_

_I'm So Glad - Royal Wood_

_You Are the Right One - Sports_

_Secret Smile - Semisonic_

_You and I - Budgie_

_In Your Eyes - Ninja Sex Party_

_All Your'n - Tyler Childers_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is a link to the playlist [ on spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0W3Tztl99L1EXRvuBb1NkG?si=fXFcGzbgRhmlx_MfR_o4fQ) again.


	19. Extra chapter: the prompts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm also adding in a chapter with the original prompt list I used, in case the tumblr post for it someday goes missing.

**The prompts:**

  1. _"I didn't know if I could trust you."_



  1. _"No, only I get to touch me there."_



  1. _"Why is there a giant, fluffy unicorn plush on my bed?"_



  1. _"What the fuck did you do to my toothbrush?"_



  1. _"I have been waiting for you my entire life."_



  1. _"I love you so much it hurts and I hate you for that."_



  1. _"I just don't. Want to! Why is that so hard to understand?"_



  1. _"But I didn't mean to flirt with him/her/them!"_



  1. _"Get it your own damn self then!"_



  1. _"I'm dying. The snot is flooding my brain and I'm dying. Tell my mother I never loved her."_



  1. _"Fuck the avocadoes! We're leaving!"_



  1. _"I'm not buying you that."_



  1. _"I am a complete and total asexual disaster."_



  1. _"But sex is boring."_



  1. _"You know he's/she's/they're just as gone on you as you are on him/her/them, right? Like I've seen the two of you taking turns staring at each other while the other one isn't looking and let me tell you, that shit is not cute."_



  1. _"I only have sexual words for non-sexual feelings!"_



  1. _"I just want cuddles and obedience."_



  1. _"You smell like candy canes and grilled cheese sandwiches. 'S nice."_



  1. _"I am not hauling that thing down from the attic."_



  1. _"My hair hates me and I'm sad."_



  1. _"That was the biggest Dad joke I've ever heard."_



  1. _"How do I tell him/her/them I want to tie him/her/them up and not fuck him/her/them?"_



  1. _"You are not allowed to die first, got it?"_



  1. _"I'm not doing this without you."_



  1. _"I just want all the naked makeouts."_



  1. _"And everybody cuddled and lived happily ever after, the end."_



  1. _"Stay here."_



  1. _"Don't touch me. Don't fucking touch me."_



  1. _"You're so unfunny it's a crime. Like look it up, it's actually in... whatever those big books they put all the laws in are called."_



  1. _"Why bump uglies when we could bump go-karts instead?"_



  1. _"Boom. Fizz. Bang. Pow. You know, like fireworks. Just, like, non-sexual fireworks. I-wanna-kiss-you-and-that's-all fireworks."_



  1. _"Yep. We're gay and we're taking this shit over."_



  1. _"Stop breathing and I'll kill you."_



  1. _"I'll still love you if you need to go jack off in the shower."_



  1. _"We're not even friends and already I hate you."_



  1. _"Why did you think that was a good idea?"_



  1. _"Don't touch me there. Like, everywhere else is good, just not there."_



  1. _"This is the best movie I've ever seen since that one with that one guy in it."_



  1. _"Don't hurt yourself there, sweetheart."_



  1. _"You might as well just walk around with a sign around your neck saying 'perpetual asshole' on it."_



  1. _"How did you even manage that? Like seriously, I wanna know. That kinda fuck up should be studied."_



  1. _"You know I'd go anywhere you were, right?"_



  1. _"Please just don't bleed out until we reach the hospital."_



  1. _"Who even reads books anymore?"_



  1. _"First my phone ran away, now it's my keys and I just… I wanna fucking go crawl under my covers and pretend today never happened."_



  1. _"Oh my god, no. No, no, no, no. No."_



  1. _"Sex seems like so much work. Like I don't want to wash my sheets that often, thanks."_



  1. _"But see that's kind of the problem: I love you. Like crazy, stupid love you."_



  1. _"Why would I want your dick when I already have your heart?"_



  1. _"I want him to break me in half, but platonically."_



  1. _"What do you mean, they were flirting with me?"_



  1. _"He asked me to give him a handy so I punched him in the dick and charged him five dollars."_



  1. _"This wasn't exactly what I had in mind when I said I'd do anything..."_



  1. _"You fell asleep with your head in my lap. Again."_



  1. _"Are you purring?"_



  1. _"You say I lost, but it feels like a win from here, so ..."_



  1. _"Can I draw on you?"_



  1. _"Pancakes? What brought this on?"_



  1. _"Oh no, by all means, go ahead, laugh at my misery."_



  1. _"I love you. Please don't go."_



  1. _"You're adorable when you're sleepy."_



  1. _"You were talking in your sleep. Why don't you tell me more about my 'stupid, perfect face'?"_



  1. _"I love this giant dork."_



  1. _"You're so dumb I bet your mom used cactuses as dildos."_



  1. _"When I sang I wanna hold your hand at you, I meant it literally."_



  1. _"I said I liked PEANUTS, not penis."_



  1. _"The a in gpa stands for asexual now, that's just the rules."_



  1. _"If there was an ace illuminati would it be called the illumiNOTi?"_



  1. _"I don't wanna touch your naughty bits, you naughty bitch!"_



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another link to the original [ list](https://gideongrace.tumblr.com/post/615309936485924864/dialogueace-fic-prompts). 
> 
> And if any of these prompts inspires you, please use them! But definitely let me know if you do because I will definitely want to read your fic!


	20. Extra chapter: the book cover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My lovely friend dragoonthegreat on tumblr made me a book cover for this fic! (And you can print the whole fic off as a book, if you want.)

Here is the basic image version:

And here is a link to the downloadable pdf version of the cover on [deviantart.](https://www.deviantart.com/texturehunter/art/Book-Cover-for-Upside-Down-Cupcakes-858520593) The pdf version has a proper spine and back cover so it could be used on a site like lulu.


End file.
